


Through the Dark

by A_Starry_Night



Series: This Is the Rain [2]
Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:33:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6297352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Starry_Night/pseuds/A_Starry_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The song referenced in this chapter is 'Second Chances' by Gregory Alan Isakov, and I love love <em>love</em> this song. It's a very Alec Hardy song, in my opinion, and is in fact the one I listened to the most while writing this story.</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The view atop the cliffs of Broadchurch was breathtaking. The ocean was spread out as far as the eye could see like a vast blue carpet, writhing and foaming as it murmured and groaned over the beach. The wind smelled heavily of salt, a strangely refreshing scent that was equally invigorating and calming. The town itself was visible only from the lights of the houses and streetlamps, a busy, loud mini civilization laid out amidst the rugged Dorset landscape.

Dusk was falling, obscuring much of the beauty of the surroundings, but this was one of Alec Hardy’s favorite times to come. In the near-dark he was barely noticeable, something he very much preferred, and the air itself was cooler so that he could walk comfortably. He preferred also the last light of the day on the water, rather than its shimmering brightness during the high of the day.

He’d found himself coming to this spot more and more often now since the close of Danny Latimer’s murder. He had always found a strange release listening to the sound of the ocean and tonight was no different. Out here in the middle of nowhere, or near enough that, he didn’t have to pretend. Didn’t have to keep his barriers up, and didn’t have to pretend that he cared about half the bullshit that he was presented with throughout his day. Out here he could simply stand in silence and let the world pass him by without the threat of judging eyes.

Out here he could think.

The air was gaining a chilly edge to it. Nearing fall, and then the cold of winter. He was still warm enough in his old detective’s jacket (which, he would never admit, hung too loosely off his frame), which was flapping in the breeze, but he knew he wouldn’t be soon enough. In the winter he wouldn’t be able to make these walks over here to the cliff’s edge but that was all the reason for them now. He didn’t know how he was going to feel being shut up at the tiny little town spread out far below to his right. He didn’t hate the small-town feel of Broadchurch quite as much as he had a few months ago, but he missed the bustle and crowds of Glasgow where he could blend in much easier.

The sun was fully setting now, falling behind the water. The last light of the day was fast bleeding away, leaving everything a washed out greyish-blue. He waited until he saw the first faint glimmering of the stars before turning and walking back the way he’d come, ignoring (as always) the heavy irregular beating of his heart.

He hadn’t quite recovered from his heart attack from a couple months ago, when chasing a suspect from the hut at Briar Cliff. Its affect had left him weakened and slurring half his words, and had frightened Ellie Miller to death; like everything else, however, Alec had adjusted to the new circumstance and stubbornly pushed on. He was medicaled out of the police force now anyway so that was one less stress he could push on his heart. Miller was pushing him, though, trying to get him to agree to a pacemaker surgery.

Speaking of Miller…

He was just walking through a dimly-lit field, strung with multi-colored lights, when he saw a familiar bright orange coat striding towards him pushing a stroller. He rolled his eyes at the monstrous coat, wondering if Miller knew how ridiculous she looked wearing it, and continued on his way. When they met halfway across the tall grass he passed her by without a word. He thought he heard her huff of exasperation and heard the stroller being turned but did not look or even stop.

“You know, there are such things as ‘manners’, sir,” she called to him as she struggled to catch up. His long legs were making it difficult for her much shorter strides. Her son Fred, safely tucked into his seat, giggled and waved his arms, babbling to himself like only a two-year-old could. She smiled to hear him, but still couldn’t help her sense of irritation at her old boss’s lack of consideration.

“You didn’t have to come and find me,” he called back shortly; his strong Scottish brogue had roughened a little in his own irritation, clearly put off that she had come to find him, but she was not daunted.

She knew him too well for that, and he knew it.

Panting a little in her exertion, Ellie finally reached his side. “Fred wanted a walk,” she explained. “I thought you might like some company.”

He glanced over at her. Her mouth turned down, and blurted before she could stop herself, “My god, you look horrible. Where have you been hanging out at, under the Broadchurch pier?”

It had been a few days since Ellie had seen him last, which was usually how it worked, and tonight he looked a little worse for wear. His hair was ruffled and unkempt, in need of a trim, and his dark stubble had thickened into a genuine beard, only highlighting his milky skin and sunken eyes. He was clearly exhausted. 

“I’m fine,’ he answered shortly, in no mood to talk of his health.

Ellie raised an eyebrow, less than impressed with his retort, but held her tongue for the moment knowing when wasn’t the right time to push him. “Tom told me to tell you hello.”

He looked over at her again. “Where is Tom?”

“Over at a friend’s house.” Ellie couldn’t help her mix of happiness and worry for her eldest son; happiness because he was finally getting out of the house again and worry because of the accusations she was sure he would be receiving. But if Tom had at least one friend who didn’t look at him as the son of a murderer and a pedophile then she would take it. "I’m supposed to pick him up in an hour, actually, so I was wondering if you’d like to join me for dinner tonight?”

He frowned, taken aback. “I’m not your boss anymore, Miller. You don’t have to invite me for dinner.”

“You’re impossible sometimes, you know that?” Ellie rolled her eyes. “You don’t just invite your bosses to dinner. You invite friends to dinner as well. It’s called socializing.”

He snorted. “I don’t do that sort of thing.”

Ellie sighed. She knew he didn’t, but she had been hoping that he would be willing for just one evening. Not surprising, though; sometimes she thought Alec Hardy wouldn’t know a social cue if it smacked him upside the head. “Come on,’ she cajoled him, “just one evening. You must have had friends back in Scotland.”

For a split second he paused, swinging to look at her with shadowed eyes. Not angry. Careful. “That was in Scotland,” he said tersely. “Not here.”

At that moment Fred screeched a laugh and reached out to grab at Alec’s pant leg, still babbling away happily and looking at him with wide brown eyes. For a moment Alec simply looked down at the child in bemusement, then heaved a sigh. “Suppose he’s taking your side, then,” he told Ellie accusingly, but his tone was without bite. He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just for this evening.”

0000000

The restaurant Ellie led them to was small and inconspicuous, quiet for this time of night, and on the border of the town. Until he’d actually sat down at the table they were shown Alec hadn’t realized he was hungry and so took a few moments to silently look at the menu, listening to Miller placing Fred in a high seat. 

When finally Miller had seated herself, he looked up at her. In the light, he realized she herself looked weary. The dark had obscured much of it, but here she couldn’t hide the deep shadows under her eyes or the new lines gouged onto her face, and it dismayed him to realize that she was starting to look vaguely like his own haggard reflection.

Joe Miller’s confession of murdering Danny had torn her apart like nothing else could have. It had certainly destroyed what little naivety she had had left by the end of the case, and he wondered if, like him, she was now being kept awake by nightmares. 

He hated the town for turning its back on Ellie Miller. He couldn’t help but hear the whispered accusations that clearly dogged her heels wherever she went now, her closest friends now accusing her of being the wife of a murderer. Asking how she couldn’t have possibly known what Joe was doing practically under his own roof.

She asked those very questions herself, he knew. ‘I should’ve seen it,’ she told him shortly after she’d found out the truth. 

But very few of the loved ones ever really did see anything, he thought to himself. If the murderer wanted to keep it hidden they could keep it so very easily, especially if, like Ellie, their loved ones were busy with work. Sometimes, just sometimes, he wanted to point that out to those who said those things against Miller. 

He wanted to point that out to Miller herself, but he wasn’t entirely sure how she would take that information.

“Gone back to the station yet?” he asked quietly after they had ordered their respective meals. 

Miller shook her head. “No.”

He knew she wouldn’t. The police headquarters held too much irony, too much pain, to willingly go back there again. The question had become their own little humorless joke, his comeback to her asking when he was going to schedule his surgery.

They ate most of their meal in silence, but that was perfectly fine by him having never been one for small talk. It was only when Miller had finished with feeding Fred that she spoke up again. 

“Joe’s been asking about me.”

Alec froze for a moment, startled; then he could have kicked himself for not realizing that this was the reason she had come to seek him out. He sat back in his seat and was careful to keep eye contact. “Has he.” It was not a question.

She nodded, swallowing hard. Her fingers were twisting her napkin nervously. “I just heard today. He’d asked for me while he was here, of course—“

She didn’t visit him. That Alec knew for a fact.

“I dunno why I was so surprised that he would still wanting to see me, though.”

He did. He had seen it while interrogating Joe following the man’s confession. Joe Miller, underneath all of the humor and homey I-love-my-life, was a mere child wanting what he couldn’t have and unable to find the support he needed without someone older and more mature than he was. 

‘I wanted something that was mine.’ That was what he had said when explaining why he had had Danny Latimer start meeting him in secret. 

There had been something very childish about Joe during that interrogation, reduced to such a sniveling mess that Alec hadn’t been able to help pitying him even through his hatred of the man’s actions. It did not surprise him that Joe would be asking for his wife.

He wondered if Joe knew that Miller would never come to visit him.

“I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

He spoke without thinking. “Then don’t. Murder isn’t forgivable.”

She laughed a small, raw laugh that tore at what little healthy heart he had left. “I miss him,” she confessed. “As much as I want to kill him myself.”

He knew the feeling. He still shared it at times, thinking about his ex-wife. There were nights he still couldn’t bear to sleep in a bed because she wasn’t in it with him.

“Don’t kill him either,” he stated flatly, and completely seriously. “I don’t want to arrest you too.”

'I don’t think I could stand that a second time.'

His appetite gone, he stood. “Thanks for the dinner. I’ll talk to you later.” He managed a tight if genuine smile in Fred’s direction, but left as quickly as he could, leaving Ellie sitting dejectedly by herself.

Once more walking by himself down the roads of the town, he allowed himself to take a deep breath. He didn’t think Miller really meant anything when she said she wanted to kill Joe herself, but Alec had learned early on in his career that anyone was truly capable of murder.

There were times that Alec wanted to tell Miller of John O’Bailey, just to prove his point; but he’d found that the subject of that period of his life was tabooed. Even from himself.

There was, after all, no point in ghosts long buried. John O’Bailey would never cross his path again. He would make sure of that.

0000000

In the late next morning, Ellie was taking her usual walk down the main street of the town, wrapped in her coat with a coffee in her hands. She very rarely planned where she was going during her morning walks, allowing instead her feet to mark the way. Today, inexplicably, her path took her past the police station (a direction she rarely took anymore).

Later she would wonder if it was luck or a curse that led her there that morning, because just as she was walking past the building a man walked out the front doors looking lost.

He was tall and thin, with greying golden hair and a haggard, worn face that must have been quite handsome when he was younger. His clothes, while clean, looked ragged and old, like newly-patched hand-me-downs.

She hesitated in her walk for just a moment, taken aback by his strange appearance in a town such as this; and in the very moment she stopped he caught sight of her.

“Hello, ma’am,” he greeted her politely, walking up to her. 

“Hello,” she said nervously, trying to smile. He wasn’t looking at her like he knew who she was, which was a relief, but she still didn’t feel like talking with anyone at the moment, especially not with a stranger. But his eyes looked kind enough, even if they were tired. “Do you need help?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said with a nod, and with a slight shock Ellie realized that his accent was Scottish. Her surprise turned very quickly into confusion when he continued. “I’m looking for Alec Hardy. You know him?”

This day, she realized, was about to get a whole lot more interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

When John O'Bailey traveled his slow way to Broadchurch, he had not expected to have so much trouble when he actually got there. The journey itself took little time but stepping foot within its borders had started his troubles, first and foremost the fact that no matter where he went he could find virtually no information on Alec Hardy.

He didn't know why. He had kept up with the news even while in prison, always following his friend's progress as best he could, and knew that it was likely that Alec would still be here. Even if he wasn't, there should have been at least one person who could tell him where he had gone. He had the suspicion that for some reason the town was, in some odd way, protecting its Scottish resident from prying eyes. Even the police department, when he visited, told him that Alec was "not there" and shooed him away with wary eyes.

Then as he'd left he managed to come across a woman walking the opposite direction, and knew as soon as he mentioned Alec's name that she knew him.

The woman looked at him warily. "I know him, yeah," she said, nodding. "He's—not one for visitors, though."

John didn't hesitate. "I'm an old friend of his," he explained. "John O'Bailey. I've been looking for him. I'd appreciate it, Miss-?"

"Ellie," she supplied quietly, hearing his question.

He nodded. "Ellie. I'd appreciate it if you could take me to meet him."

Again she hesitated, and again John had the peculiar sense of wary protection, which only confused him more. What were these people hiding? Finally, though: "C'mon," she sighed, giving in, "He'll be on the other side of town." She muttered to herself a moment, then drew out her phone and dialed a number. One ring later the call was picked up, loud enough for John to hear.

"What?"

Ellie scowled. "Again with the manners," she admonished him—Alec, John realized.

"It's eight in the bloody morning, Miller," came the retort. "I barely know the word 'manners' until noon."

"Ha ha," Ellie said sarcastically. "Look, I'm coming over. Should be there within thirty minutes."

"Miller—"

"I want you dressed and presentable when I get there," she interrupted. John looked at her in open surprise and admiration at her no-nonsense tone. "Thirty minutes." When all she received was silence on the opposite end she rolled her eyes. "Just say yes, sir."

"Yes," came the quiet reply finally. John smiled to himself.

"Good." Ellie disconnected the call and pocketed the phone. "Stubborn git," she muttered, but it was without bite.

"Have you known Alec long?" John asked curiously. They continued on their way, heading down the main street and along shops.

She shook her head. "Only a few months. It feels longer than that though, sometimes." She was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, then: "Sometimes I feel like I don't know him at all." But before he could ask her what she meant she shook herself and looked up at him with a tight, if genuine, smile. "Well, enough about me. What about you? How long have you known him for?"

"Since—forever, I guess," John said with a shrug. "We met when we were fifteen. Graduated together."

"Are you a cop too?"

He snorted. "Me? Please. Alec was the smarts of the two of us. I wouldn't have had the patience for all that schooling."

"Ellie!"

The shout behind them made Ellie turn in surprise, her expression closing off. "Chloe," she said, surprised. John watched a girl of about sixteen, short with long blonde hair, come up from one of the shops. She barely glanced at John as she came up, focused entirely on Ellie.

"Ellie, would you—I mean, you could try to get ahold of my mum again," she said a little bit shamefully, as if she thought she were treading dangerous waters.

Ellie shook her head. "No."

"But—"

"No, Chloe, and that's final. She doesn't want to talk to me. I'm sorry, but I've done all I can. It's up to her now."

Chloe looked so disheartened that John almost, almost, asked what was wrong, but his mother had raised him better than that and so he held his tongue. He merely watched as the girl finally nodded slightly, ducking her head, and walked away. Ellie looked back at her sadly, then turned away herself and continued on her way. An uncomfortable silence had fallen between the two of them, one he wasn't sure how to break.

He had learned while in jail, after all, that sometimes it was better if you said nothing at all. It made him sad, though, to see that Ellie looked so unhappy; she was the sort of person whose companions were affected by her moods. He wanted to help her.

He wondered again what her story with Alec was. Her phone conversation with him had not seemed the most—genial of such, but maybe that was just their way. He didn't recall hearing Alec so blunt before, and Ellie had bossed him like a weary mother did her son.

"He lives here?" he blurted; they had finally reached a small flat, not run-down but certainly not part of the higher end of town. Ellie rolled her eyes as she approached the door, reaching up to knock. 

"It took me four weeks to get him to move out of that hotel room," she said in poor explanation.

Hotel room?

"We're here, Alec," Ellie called through the closed door, reaching up to knock again—

Before her hand could make contact the door swung open; John stayed back a few feet, nervous, as his old best friend stepped in view and he couldn't help but gasp softly when seeing him.

What had happened to the Alec Hardy he remembered? He recalled a healthy, well-groomed, lively man his own age, always quick to smile even if he didn't talk much. This unkempt, bedraggled mess at the door couldn't be Alec.

"Bloody hell, you're impatient, Miller."

"Good morning to you, too," Ellie retorted. Then she paused, her voice suddenly softening with concern. "You alright?"

But she had lost his attention after her first sentence because at that moment Alec looked over shoulder and caught sight of John standing a few feet and abruptly he froze, a frankly dangerous snarl forming on his face.

"You."

The voice had even changed, roughening and deepening slightly. John remembered that look from years ago, and suddenly understood that, in Alec's eyes, nothing had changed. He nodded. "Me."

"Leave. Now."

Ellie stiffened. "What? What, for god's sake, sir—"

He looked back at her, anger lighting his expression, and Ellie suddenly wanted to step away. It wasn't often that she ever saw him truly angry. "Turn around," he growled, "and leave. Take him with you."

"Alec—"

The slamming of the door was her answer, and she reflexively sprang back before it could shut on her toes. Stunned, she turned back to John. There was a suspicion starting to burn in her eyes that made him uneasy.

"How," she began slowly, and very very carefully, "did you say you know Alec Hardy again?"

0000000

Trembling, Alec leaned against the door, listening for the tell-tale sounds of when Miller and her company would move away. He swallowed hard, his heartbeat thundering in his ears as he clenched and unclenched his hands.

He couldn't deal with this. He'd dealt with enough over the past few months, he didn't need or want any more—especially not an old friend who he never wanted to see again. He didn't hate John, no, he never could hate him…

But killing your own wife…

He suddenly felt twenty-five again, learning of Freya O'Bailey's murder. Having to arrest John for it. With it came the old sickening mix of anger and disgust, the utter confusion of why someone could willingly kill someone else.

Miller was finally gone; he was vaguely pleased to note that his reaction had garnered some suspicion. Now maybe John would tell her what he had done that had landed him in prison. Dear god, Miller didn't need to put up with any of this either, she'd had enough to deal with. Part of him in that moment wanted to call her back, drag her through the doorway and explain everything to her about his history with John O'Bailey and why the man was seeking him out now. But he had never been one to fly on whims of fancy and he merely stayed where he was, swallowing down his sudden panic.

Slamming that door had been the coward's way out, in several ways. Let Miller think it was merely his temper and being rude. But it had allowed him to escape answering her question.

When finally his heart rate leveled out to a manageable pace he pushed off the wall, walking unsteadily farther into his flat and trying to ignore the opened letters that were spread out on his small kitchen table.

Letters from the latest runs of tests.

'Ah you bloody doctors. It's always, 'Do as I say or you'll end up dead'.'

0000000

John hesitated telling her anything, but eventually realized he owed her the explanation. He had made Alec go off on her. "I didn't think he'd be like that," he said quietly, nursing a coffee.

She snorted. "He's been like that since I've known him. Honestly, it's riding through his fits that's easy now."

John managed a grin. "He always did have a temper on him."

Ellie suddenly straightened. "Paul!"

Surprised by the sudden change in conversation, John frowned, looking over his shoulder and found a young blonde-haired man walking into the small café they had taken refuge in. He was wearing the collar of a vicar, kept visible above the open lapels of his blue coat. Spotting Ellie, he stopped by their table with a warm, if tired, smile.

"Ellie. I'm glad to see you still here."

She smiled weakly. "Yeah. Ah, have you met John?" She gestured to her company nervously, her fingers still on her cup clenching slightly. "He's just come in from Scotland."

John stood. "John O'Bailey. Pleasure."

"Likewise." The vicar shook his proffered hand. "Paul Coates." He looked back at Ellie, a wry grin twitching at his mouth. "So, we have another Scot then. Hope you enjoy your stay, Mr. O'Bailey." He gave Ellie a little bow. "I hope to see you in church again, Ellie. It's a pleasure having you and your boys there."

"We'll try, Paul." Ellie took a drink of her coffee. "How is the insomnia?"

Paul spread his hands a little, helplessly. "The same. The Lord must think I need more time to read His word." His dry sarcasm made John grin behind his hand. "Well, I'll leave you two to your drinks. I'll see you later."

Paul left, and John turned to Ellie with a raised brow. "Still here?"

Ellie paused, fingers ticking restlessly now. For a long moment she didn't say anything, but then finally she sighed. "There's something about myself I haven't mentioned yet…"


	3. Chapter 3

Quietly as possible Ellie opened the front door of her house, holding it open for John. With a nod of thanks he stepped through, shaking the water from his hair as he went. It was now late afternoon and the skies had decided to let loose, a heavy chilling downpour that signified that winter was on their doorstep. Ellie looked behind her out at the abandoned street and shut the door behind her.

Tom was seated at the kitchen table finishing his homework, and stiffened when seeing the strange man who entered the room ahead of his mother. “Who’re you?”

“Tom!” Ellie stopped where she was, appalled. “I did teach you manners!”

He blushed, chagrined. “Sorry,” he mumbled, swallowing nervously. His pencil went tap-tap against his paper before he managed to gain enough courage to look back up. 

Ellie removed her coat. “This is John, Tom,” she said. “John, this is my oldest. Tom.”

John grinned in his friendliest manner and extended a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Tom.”

The boy simply looked at him suspiciously. Ellie sighed, wondering what she’d been thinking by allowing John to come home with her. He had nowhere to go at the moment, no hotel room set up, and when it started to rain Ellie had invited him to her home to wait the weather out. She would go with him to the Traders and talk with Becca Fisher. Maybe it was simply the fact that she had told him her story, about Danny Latimer’s murder and the following weeks of investigation and her husband’s involvement, and he had not looked at her with the accusing or disturbed stares others had given her. Alec, John, and Paul were the few who did not. They were the few who actually believed she had had no knowledge of Joe’s actions.

It hurt, being on the receiving end of so much ridicule and slander. She wondered sometimes, half-asleep and drifting in thought, if this was what Alec had faced after the disastrous Sandbrook case. She knew she would never ask him.

“Go ahead and have a seat in the living room, John,” she said quietly. “I’ll just have a word with Tom.” She could hear Fred stirring where he was in his playpen hearing his mother. He would want something to eat soon. 

She waited until her guest had left before she seated herself across from her son. “Tom, sweetheart—“

“Are you replacing Dad?” he asked roughly, interrupting her before she could start.

She was too shocked to be angry; she could only stare at him in dumbstruck horror for a moment before she was able to answer. “No. God, no, Tom, I would never—“ She swallowed down a sudden wave of tears, thoroughly shaken by his question. Did he really think so little of her? “John simply doesn’t have anywhere to go for the moment. I couldn’t leave him out in the rain, now, could I?”

He seemed to realize too late the mistake he’d made. He looked back down at his paper, as vulnerable now as he’d been wary a few seconds before. “It’s just… you don’t bring strange men to our house…”

Tom was too young to worry about this sort of stuff. Ellie felt her heart clench realizing just how much Tom had grown in the past few months. She reached and grabbed his hands in her own. “Tom, there is nothing going on. Nothing at all. John is here just for a couple hours, then he’ll be on his way.”

Her words reassured him a bit. He nervously tapped his paper again. “Guess I should apologize to him,” he mumbled. Ellie nodded silently. She remained where she was as he stood and went into the living room, stirring only when she heard Fred calling for her.

0000000

Alec waited until his normal time to go for a walk although he had been full of nervous energy all day. It had taken all he had to not walk in circles around the flat and wear himself out. The rain had helped stave off his urge to leave, finally stopping about an hour after it had begun. He put his coat on and left, looking to see that there would be no one on the street who would want to talk to him first.

Today, he didn’t think about where he would go, still thinking about Miller’s visit earlier that morning. Now that he had calmed he felt a bit sorry that he had slammed the door on her, and was tempted to give her a ring to apologize, but ultimately decided that he simply didn’t want her company tonight. 

Inexplicably his wayward footsteps took him to the last place he expected and wanted to be—St. Bede's. The doors of the ancient church hung open in silent invitation, calling passing people into its sanctuary.

Alec snorted. If there was one thing a church did not offer, it was sanctuary. He sighed—his feet had led him here. Might as well see why.

The doors led almost straight into the main sanctorum, as wide and yawning as ever; the vicar, however, was nowhere in sight. Slowly he made his way down the inner aisle between the pews, chewing at the inside of his cheek. It was simply strange to be in a church, any church at all; it took all he had not to sneer up at the altar, or the massive stain-glass window depicting Christ’s ascension.

_People call You loving. I think You’re just cruel._

“Can I help you?”

Paul Coates’s voice made him turn; the vicar was near his office door, clearly having heard Alec’s footsteps. For a moment Paul allowed his surprise to show seeing him there but very quickly schooled his expression into polite inquiry. “Is everything alright?”

Alec nearly barked a biting laugh but managed to tamp down on it; instead he smiled, sharp as a knife, and it was answer enough. Paul frowned.

“Is it Ellie?”

Why would it be Ellie? Taken aback by the inquiry, Alec was silent for a long moment, deciding whether he should bother answering or not. Largely he had no wish to talk to Paul about anything, especially not about John; but likewise there was a small part of him, the part that had urged him to confess the truth about Sandbrook, that simply didn’t want to keep it to himself anymore.

And Paul understood other peoples’ problems, Alec had to begrudgingly admit. 

“It’s a friend.” Well, that was decided for him. Very much like that night with Maggie and Olly at the Echo his mouth had run away with him again. “An old friend," he corrected himself automatically.

Paul nodded. “John O’Bailey, yes? I met him at the café with Ellie.”

So very like Miller, to invite a stranger to tea. Alec nearly rolled his eyes but managed to restrain himself.

Paul spoke when he didn’t. “Was a friend? What happened?”

“I arrested him.” There, he thought darkly. Work out what to say to that.

It took a moment for the vicar to find words. “Well, it doesn’t seem like he holds any ill-will against you if he’s come here.”

“He murdered his wife.”

Paul blinked, taken aback; but with the confession he had an inkling of understanding. “And now you feel repelled by him.” Thinking about it, it wasn’t too surprising with Alec’s job being to put away murderers. 

“Shouldn’t I be?” Alec retorted. “Aren’t you Christians always the ones going on about ‘thou shalt not murder’?”

Paul nodded slowly, unable to deny it. “Yes, we are,” he answered quietly. “But we also are taught to forgive those who ask to be forgiven.”

“Easier said than done,” Alec muttered darkly. 

Paul heard him. “You know, Paul the Apostle was once a man named Saul. He was as anti-Christian as you could get, and made it his job to murder as many Christians as he could—“

“And then he was visited by God while on the road and he repented,” Alec finished tiredly, unimpressed. He had heard his mother tell him that story several times. “I know.”

Paul looked at him appraisingly. “I think you’re hiding some Christian background yourself.”

“Please.” Alec shook his head, walking back down the aisle. He passed the vicar by without another word, but Paul’s quiet words as he left nearly made him pause.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways, you know. Maybe your friend is here for a reason.”

0000000

Ellie was just leaving the Traders when she saw a familiar blue van pull up onto the opposite side of the street. Her stomach clenched. Luckily she was wearing a darker coat tonight and she could blend into the shadows a little bit better as she watched the door open and Mark Latimer stepped out. He barely looked in her direction, barely looked at the Traders at all, but that was fine with Ellie; she had no wish to be glared at.

She had seen very little of the Latimer family since Joe was arrested. Beth still would not forgive her, even though Ellie had sent her one message explaining everything. Mark, too, was still angry but if he did ever catch sight of Ellie he merely ignored her and went on his way.

She waited until he had gone into the building, clearly to fix some plumbing that had gone wrong, before she went on her way. For a moment she hesitated, unsure, and then she found herself going in the opposite direction of her house.

She was going to talk with Alec by herself. Maybe without John there he would listen to her.

When she knocked on his door, it took him a moment to answer. When he did the door opened much slower than it had that morning and he leaned tiredly against the doorframe. “Miller.”

“Alec.” She was silent for a moment, nervous, then spoke again. “Look, I just wanted to apologize about this morning. I didn’t know about what John did, if I’d known I wouldn’t have handled it like I did—“

“Just get inside, Miller,” he interrupted her shortly, stepping aside so she could. When the door was closed again, however, he dropped whatever guard he’d had standing. He looked now exhausted and vulnerable. He spoke up before she could. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t know.”

Ellie hesitated, then nodded slowly, recognizing his own apology in his words. Together they made their way to the small kitchen. He picked up an official-looking paper from the table and hastily stuck it folded into his pocket before turning to her again. “Tea?”

She hesitated, tempted for a moment to decline (she had only planned to apologize, after all) but she found herself speaking before she could. “Why not?” She seated herself at the table as he worked, silently taking the sight of him in. Definitely thinner than before. His crisp white shirt was rumpled like he’d taken a nap in it earlier. He had not touched his beard. His movements were just a little bit slower, a bit too careful.

“Are you okay?” She repeated her question from earlier.

He paused for a moment; his jaw clenched, working slightly. He turned slowly to look at her. “No.”

“Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No.”

“Alec—“

He placed her cup of tea down with more force than was necessary. “I bloody well said _no_ , Miller!”

But she had never been one to simply lay back and let him have a go at her. “I asked you a legitimate question, so do not bite my head off!” she retorted. “You look ill, Alec, and you can’t deny it! God, have you had any recovery since the close of the case?”

He turned away, tight-lipped. It was all the answer she needed. She went silent, taking a sip of her tea. Slowly, groaning slightly as he did, he sat across from her. For a long moment they simply sat in silence, then Alec slowly looked over at her.

“Thank you for coming, Miller.”

She set her cup down. “Yes, well, couldn’t leave you here by yourself all the time, could I?” She was silent again for a moment. “John told me what he did.”

He snorted, but there was no scorn in his eyes, only exhaustion. “Did he.”

She nodded. “He misses you, sir. He wants to catch up.”

He shook his head. “Miller, your husband killed somebody,” he said quietly; not to hurt, but simply to make a point. “How is John any different?”

She hesitated. Shook her head again. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted. “But he doesn’t… Joe was doing so many things that were wrong, not just his murdering Danny. John hasn’t. He warned his wife not to do anything, and she did anyway. It doesn’t make it right, what he did. But it makes it a little more understandable.”

“Miller, I grew up with him. He was my best friend. I had dinner over at their home at least once a week.” Alec shifted; his tea was untouched. She could tell it was costing him a lot to tell her this. “And then he killed her. Just killed her.”

Ellie was very still for a moment. She thought she could understand both John and Alec, and their respective opinions. “He is alone here, though, Alec.”

He sighed—and surprised her when he gently laid his fingers on top of her own. “If everyone in the world had your heart, Miller…”


	4. Chapter 4

Ellie met up with Alec a couple of days later, careful not to stop at the Traders. If John wanted to come find either of them then he was more than welcome to, but it would have to be when Alec wanted. Her talk with him had helped the other night, for both of them, but Alec’s unspoken warning was to not push him. Still, at least Ellie was assured that he would eventually talk with John one-on-one.

She didn’t know why she cared so much about Alec's old friend, she really didn’t. By all accounts she should have been repulsed by his very presence after he had told her the reason he’d been in jail. He had made a good impression on her, she supposed.

This morning they walked anywhere. Normally the two of them went to a specific place but today they simply were led by their feet. Naturally, their path led them by the ocean; not along the cliffs today, however, but along a tall sandy hill that was flitted through with brittle tufts of grass. The view was just as spectacular as on the cliffs, the people walking below at the town the size of ants and the water so far down it looked like they could step out onto it like a vast blue carpet. 

Alec was not paying attention to his surroundings today, however; he looked down, watching the sand shifting beneath his feet with his head bowed. Ellie followed slowly behind him, wrapped in her bright orange coat once again, enjoying the feel of the sun and wind on her face. He was wearing his old jacket (like always) but had declined anything else, which made Ellie want to strangle him. For a very intelligent man he really was incredibly stupid.

“Did you get any sleep last night, sir?”

He was quiet for a long moment, then glanced back at her. “Did you?”

They both knew the unspoken answer for both of them. No. Alec had always had trouble sleeping, his job weighing down on the subconscious; and ever since that disastrous time with Danny’s case Ellie had found it hard to sleep in her own bed. It felt wrong to be lying in the sheets she had shared with Joe, even as she sometimes felt like she was lying next to a gaping ravine where he should be that would swallow her whole.

He kept on walking, grim triumph in his silence that showed his point had been made. His breathing was heavier than normal. Ellie wanted to ask him again what was wrong, and whether he should see a doctor, but he had not been pleased hearing her questions the other night. He wasn’t one to be pushed.

Together they watched the sun start to set, its light setting the water aflame with an array of reds and oranges. When finally the darkness of dusk swept in they started back down, towards the welcoming lights of the town. Ellie spoke before she could stop herself.

“Would you like to get a drink with me?”

Startled, Alec turned to look at her. “What?”

“A drink,” she repeated. “You know, just as two mates.”

He hesitated, and she realized too late what he was thinking about—and with it came another thought several months late. “Oh god, that morning when you came into work with that cut on the back of your head… you’d been hurt. You had one of those episodes, didn’t you? You passed out?” He didn’t say anything but he didn’t have to. She suddenly felt very guilty. “It was that wine you drank, wasn’t it?”

He had tried to tell them, in his own bloody stubborn way.

_‘I can’t—‘_

_‘Shut up and drink.’_

“Not your fault,” he finally muttered now. “I didn’t pace myself. I knew better.”

She sighed. “Never mind, then,” she said. “I’ll get that drink. You can just make sure I don’t turn into a swaggering drunken mess.”

That garnered a small grin; clearly he was imagining her as said swaggering-drunken-mess. She idly wondered what his face would look like with a full smile, one that lit his eyes. “I’ll try my best.”

She bought a bottle of wine. She ignored Alec’s raised eyebrow and waited until they settled on a place to go (her home, in case she did in fact become very drunk) to open it. Olly was watching her boys for the night, so they were luckily alone. 

For an hour they sat in near silence, as Ellie grabbed a glass and filled it. Even after all these months, awkward silence seemed their favorite companion at times. Alec watched her slow progress with the bottle silently, until finally he reached over and grabbed hold of it, pulling it out of her reach.

“I think you’ve had enough of that, Miller.”

She heard the warning note in his voice; drunk, or very well near it, she didn’t hear the concern. The wine had been so good, and the pleasant warmth that had come with it was so lovely she was loath to listen. She hadn’t felt this laid-back and satisfied in a very long time. Even Joe seemed a distant worry. She smiled lazily at him. “Going to have some yourself?”

He raised one eyebrow in response, almost scathing. “If I wanted to kill myself, yeah.”

“To be or not to be…” She couldn’t remember the rest of the saying and trailed off, wondering if maybe those words rang more true than she had originally thought. Hamlet, after all, had been fascinated by death and the destruction of lives.

“Now I know you’re soused if you’re quoting Shakespeare.” He placed the bottle on the coffee table and gazed at it with distaste before looking quietly at her for a moment. He didn’t like seeing her this way, so mellowed out by drink and lounging on the couch. “You know this isn’t going to make you feel any better.”

His concern fell on deaf ears. She looked at him in irritation. “I think it does,” she retorted. “Don’t tell me you never turned to drink after you failed Sandbrook.”

The jab at his failed case should have made him angry, but he was too concerned for her—frightened, even, because he had never liked drinking and it disturbed him knowing that this time it was _Miller_ who was drunk. He shook his head mutely.

“What was it, then?” she demanded, suddenly becoming irritated herself. She sat up straighter, moving closer to him. “Drugs? Sex?”

Spurred on by drink she did the one thing she had never thought she’d do; she reached for him, wanting to touch him, maybe even go so far as to kiss him just to see what he’d do—and then his cold fingers suddenly closed around her wrist, stopping her short.

“No,” he said, and his voice was suddenly very nearly a growl; a definite warning.

“Afraid, are you?” she challenged him, moving even closer. The wine had given her courage—otherwise she would have heeded the growing irritation in his eyes. 

He didn’t back away, merely grabbed her wrist in an even tighter hold and thrusted it down. “Miller, you’re drunk,” he said coldly and stood. 

She abruptly felt anger bloom in her gut, furious at his rejection. “Not good enough for you, am I?” she snapped. “Nothing’s good enough for you, you bastard—“ She found herself suddenly on her feet, old pent-up resentment overflowing its dam. She pushed him hard in the chest, backing him up a step. “Nothing makes you happy, no one’s good enough—you dragged me down all through the case—so tell me— _what is wrong with me_?!”

He had not moved a muscle, had not raised a hand against her; his jaw clenched, but he had simply let her speak. He felt no such kind of sexual or romantic attraction towards her, and he was completely sure that, sober, she didn’t either. But he said the first thing that came to mind that would rock her back on her heels and give her pause. “You’re still married.”

Finally he had left her speechless—not from anger, which had happened before—but from simply being taken aback. She had never thought he would answer with something like that, and now he was watching her silently, waiting for her to talk herself out. A familiar tactic she recalled from the tense days following Danny’s murder. Had his eyes been sad like they were now, had they—like now—asked ‘do you think so little of me?’

She realized with a sobering pang that she didn’t know.

She let her hand drop to her side and stepped back into the couch, away from him. “What am I doing?” she asked numbly, balling her shaking hands into fists. “What am I doing?”

Slowly he sat down beside her, sensing it was safe again. “Grieving,” he answered simply.

The quiet, understanding reply broke what little control she had left. Burying her head in her hands she broke down and cried.

0000000

With a start Ellie jerked awake. Blinking in the dark, she very quickly realized two things: one, intoxication was very quickly turning into one hell of a hangover; and second it had somehow become late night—one thirty-three, if the clock was right.

Sitting up straight—how had she ended up lying on the couch?—she felt a warm light weight on her legs and discovered that her shoes had been removed and a blanket thrown over her. Looking around in confusion, however, very quickly solved the mystery. Her expression softened.

Alec was sleeping in the armchair by the sofa; clearly he had not wanted to leave her by herself and had been keeping vigil before succumbing to sleep himself. Ellie could remember nothing following her breakdown but regardless she felt her heart warm. It couldn’t be denied that Alec Hardy was brusque and rude and definitely a stubborn ass—but it was the little things that showed her what he was really like beneath it all.

Quietly she looked at him. She had never seen Alec resting, and him being unconscious at the hospital didn’t count. While awake there was always something in his expression moving. Something exhausted and old.

But asleep he looked young. Nothing tense there in his face, no stress or irritation. She marveled at the change and was sorely tempted for a moment to take a picture of him sleeping like this, but really it was still so very comfortable on the couch, and the blanket was warm, so she laid back down and drew the blanket up to her chin, curling up again.

The soft cloth still smelled heavily of Joe—but for the first time since that awful day she found she really didn’t mind it.


	5. Chapter 5

When Ellie woke next it was late morning and the sun was shining through the curtains. Struggling with the blanket that had somehow become entangled around her legs, she staggered to her feet. Her back cracked as she stretched.

Then the headache hit her. Change in position had clearly kicked it into full blown gear and her strangled ‘’bloody hell’ was merely a groan. Her head was pounding, her mouth tasted brown, and her stomach was roiling.

She would have smashed the near-empty wine bottle to the floor but Alec was still sleeping soundly where she could fuzzily recall seeing him before. As much as she wanted to make her displeasure known, she was loathe to wake him. Instead she made her slow painful way to the kitchen where she filled herself a glass of water and swallowed two ibuprofen; dehydration, that was the killer with drinking. Hoping the water would help with her hangover she dumped the rest of the wine down the drain and threw the bottle in recycling.

She leaned heavily against the counter, gazing down at the snaking rivulets of red liquid resting in the bottom of the sink, and let out an explosive sigh. She rubbed her face wearily. What had gotten into her last night? She never drank like that, never ever turned to drink to settle her problems.

Oh dear god, Alec had seen her like that. As much as she was glad that he had been there to stop her while she was ahead she felt equally ashamed that she’d allowed him to see her sink so low. What must he think of her now?

But then she snorted. He had already seen her at her worst when she’d been screaming and sobbing after Joe’s confession. What would getting drunk change? He had stayed, after all, rather than leave in the middle of the night. She must not have scared him too badly.

She placed the now-empty glass in the sink and turned. “Bloody hell!”

Alec was standing quietly in the doorway of the kitchen, a suspiciously satisfied grin playing on his face when seeing her reaction. The night of rest had done him good; his face wasn’t quite as worn, his eyes not as shadowed. Color was finally returning to his skin. His shirt was wrinkled from sleeping and his hair was wilder than normal. “Scare easily, Miller?” he asked innocently.

On reflex she called him something rude and threw a wadded-up dishtowel at him. Equally on reflex he caught it before it could hit him in the face, and abruptly in the stunned silence he started to laugh. After gaping wide-eyed at what she’d just done, she joined in.

“Ow,” she gasped after a particularly fierce throb of pain shook her head. The suddenly new-found humor had not quite passed, however, and she was loathe to let it go. She mock-glared at him. “What happened to stopping me before I became a swaggering drunken mess?”

He smirked. “You weren’t swaggering yet.”

She rolled her eyes. “What happened to that towel…?”

He raised his fist, one corner of said dishcloth hanging from it. “This towel?” His grin, foreign as it was, was downright evil. She realized belatedly that he was somehow an expert at kitchen battles and managed to grab hold of a second towel just in time.

Fifteen minutes later they were seated back in the living room, nursing cups of tea (and their shirts damp from the dishtowel/water fight that had somehow happened). Ellie was silent for a long moment; then she abruptly turned to Alec. “Do you think I should go see him?”

He didn’t have to ask who she meant. He didn’t quite look at her. “I don’t know. Will you go ballistic on him again?”

She did not rise to the bait of his jab; she felt little shame at going full-out on Joe, even if it reflected badly on her as both a person and a cop. “I just feel so—trapped,” she confessed. “Maybe if I go see him once he’ll stop asking for me.”

“So that you can tell yourself you’ve done what you needed to do and never think of it again.” Now he looked at her. His expression was carefully neutral, but Ellie thought she knew what he was thinking. “It won’t work, Miller,” he told her flatly. “Joe is not your responsibility. When are you going to stop thinking that he is?”

She shifted to look at him, trying not to show how hurt she was. “Why wouldn’t he be my responsibility? I let him get away with murder!”

“That was his choice,” he retorted sharply, more sharply than she’d ever heard him before. “He chose to hang out with an eleven-year-old boy for hugs and God knows what else—“

“He did nothing else, we know that!”

“Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have,” he said, echoing what he had told her months ago, but this time it was said without the quiet calm he’d had before. This time he was almost vindictive. “He told me straight up, Miller—‘I was in love with him’. Doesn’t matter if he hadn’t touched Danny then; a phedo always starts with that sentence.”

Ellie slumped. She had heard the damnable confession for herself, there was no doubt that Joe was entirely guilty, a despicable excuse for a human being, but her heart still refused to let him go completely. On all levels she shouldn’t want to see him at all.

But that didn’t change the fact that she did.

And that made her angry. She glared at Alec. “So you automatically tell me not to go see my husband simply because he’s a potential pedophile?” she snapped, fingers clenching around her mug.

“Yes.” The answer was blunt; his hackles were raised, responding to her tone. Neither of them held their tempers well. Her headache throbbed slightly again, only adding to her sense of quickly-rising fury.

“I need some closure. He took so much away, I need to know why!”

“There is no knowing why, Miller! He did it, it’s done, and there’s nothing you can do!”

She leaped to her feet, placing the mug on the table. Tea sloshed over the rim, scalding her hand. She cursed. “Drawing from personal experience, are we?” she snarled. “Going to finally tell your old friend to bugger off, then? You clearly don’t want to hang out with a murderer!”

“Do not bring John into this!” He was on his feet as well; they stood several feet apart, the coffee table separating them. “That has nothing to do with anything!”

“Oh, I think it does!” Ellie retorted, in no mood to back off. Where had all this anger come from? “You refuse to listen to any opinion about murder because you’ve been betrayed by your best friend!” She clenched her shaking hands into fists, suddenly blinking back tears. “If that’s how you feel about it then you should just leave! Can’t have a murderer’s wife disgusting you!”

“If this is how you feel then Beth was right to stay away from you!”

He had gone too far. The words had barely left his mouth before he realized what he’d said, and he immediately backed away a step, shame and horror flitting across his face. Ellie had flinched as if slapped, white, looking at him like she had never seen him before. She blinked, and a tear slipped silently down her cheek. 

“Leave.” Her voice was hollow. 

He made as if to move closer, to stretch out a hand. “Miller—“

“Just go.”

She had not moved a muscle, had not even raised her voice, but it was Alec this time who flinched back and retreated. Within seconds he had grabbed his coat and the door was slamming shut. Ellie was left with silence, a mess of spilled tea, and a whole different kind of betrayal making her chest ache.


	6. Chapter 6

This type of guilt was different. That was the one thought that stuck in Alec’s mind as he walked. _This type of guilt was different._ Not the crushing shame of failing a murdered child and their family, this was nothing like letting a killer walk free. It wasn’t even like finding out what his wife had done to their marriage, sleeping with another man like she had, and wondering what he had done wrong to drive her away.

This guilt, roiling and hot, nearly made him sick. He had not felt the need to vomit in years, but he was certainly feeling it now as he made his way down the road. 

This was a guilt he knew he had completely and utterly caused. He hadn’t known his sense of self-loathing could grow anymore but it had.

Why the hell had he said that to Miller? If anyone knew how much Beth’s hateful rejection had hurt her, it was Alec himself. He had seen her crumble to pieces following Joe’s confession and had silently witnessed her weariness and listlessness as more and more of her life fell apart. He had helped her as best he could, which was not very much at all honestly, but always made sure he was there if she absolutely needed him. 

He understood the need for stability. Without it you drove yourself insane.

But he hated the fact that her stability depended on a snarky, anti-social retired detective inspector. Where had all of her old friends gone, why had they simply abandoned her? He was not someone Miller should have turned to, there was nothing he could do to fix her brokenness. 

He had only made it worse, now. He had destroyed her all over again. 

Everything was a blur, a mess of color and sound, sliding over him like water. He had no sense of where he was or what he was doing, and barely registered the fact that somehow his feet had led him to a familiar place: the Traders hotel. He hadn’t set foot in the hotel itself for several weeks, ever since he had finally moved out of the room he’d been in during the case of Danny Latimer, and had been perfectly keen with keeping it that way.

But now he remembered Miller telling him one thing: John was staying at the Traders.

0000000

John O’Bailey, for his part, had mainly kept to himself the past few days. He avoided going out too much (ignoring the fact that he was in reality afraid of stumbling into his old friend) and so had spent much of his time in his hotel room or walking bits of town. He had been tempted to call or message Ellie again, but she had other things to worry about; and he could tell that she was already busy with being there for Alec.

He had never expected to see Alec the way he was now. Not this short-tempered, unkempt mess who snarled at everyone and clearly had no love for company. As teenagers he had always known that Alec was anti-social, but he’d never been rude or mean. John wondered what had happened while he’d been in jail to make his old friend this way.

He was just preparing to leave his room for a late breakfast when he suddenly heard Becca Fisher’s raised voice, shouting at someone. Loud, heavy footsteps were coming up the stairs and along the hall, nearly drowning her out, but John could tell she was trying to stop someone. He realized almost too late who it could be and braced himself, cursing silently that he had not locked the door since leaving earlier—

And then the door slammed open, and he was suddenly facing a very angry Alec Hardy. The look on his face very nearly made John’s ice run cold, remembering vividly what that look meant when worn by a very different person. He stood hastily, wondering what had happened.

“Why the hell did you come to Broadchurch?” Alec snarled.

John blinked, taken aback. Of all the things to say he hadn’t been expecting that. “Can’t come check up on my friend, then?” 

“Not when you have family back home!” Alec stepped closer, past the opened door. “You don’t just go looking for a friend who’s left the country entirely!” His hands were clenched into fists, John noticed—maybe to hide their shaking. His voice, as he continued, was steady. “So what’s happened?”

John was prepared to make Alec fight to get his answer, but suddenly found he simply didn’t want to. He didn’t want to have this confrontation. “They’ve kicked me out,” he admitted quietly, starkly contrasted to Alec’s furious state. “Parents have all but disowned me.”

“Can’t have a son who broke one of the Commandments,” Alec sneered, sharp as a knife. “Were they disappointed that their altar boy became a murderer?”

John stiffened despite himself, stung by the accusation. “Don’t you dare,” he warned. “My parents took you in while we were growing up. Don’t you dare judge them!”

“You did it to yourself!” They were shouting now. “You decided to kill your wife and now you expect me to welcome you back with open arms?”

“I expected you to still have some respect for our friendship!”

“Respect? You lost any respect I had for you when you killed Freya! And now you come back and you destroy everything again!”

“Again?” John stared at him incredulously, almost unable to understand—and then it clicked. That wasn’t just anger fueling Alec’s bite—he recognized the old sense of self-loathing from years before, from when he had said or done something that had done damage.

Only that old feeling was fueled by years’ worth of bitterness now. Without trying Alec could do a whole lot more damage than before. 

His own sense of anger did not allow him to respond sympathetically. “Whose life did you destroy this time, then?” he asked snidely. “Ellie’s? Just like you, to hurt your friends.”

“If they were friends to begin with!” came Alec’s equally-snide retort. “You come along and fill Miller’s head with sympathy for killers, make her think it’s alright to forgive her husband for what he did!”

John barked out a biting laugh. “Please! I only saw her for a day! I barely know her.”

“And she thinks she knows you!”

“And you think you do?” John stepped closer now. “You think you know what it was like for me these past fifteen years in a jail cell? You think you know who I am anymore? Take your head out of your arse and look around you!” He pointed a finger like a javelin at his old friend, shaking with anger. “You know who you’re acting like right now?” he demanded. Alec suddenly stilled, as John had known he would, stopped in his tracks. “You know who you sound like?”

“Don’t,” Alec ordered without voice, very pale. 

But John was in no mood to stop. He knew how the accusation would hurt but plunged ahead anyway, letting a little of his disgust curl his lip. “Your dad, that’s who, just before he took a belt to beat you with it!”

It was a familiar topic he remembered from before his arrest. The infamous ill-tempered Lucas Hardy had been the reason why Alec had spent so many nights at the O’Bailey’s household, usually sporting some type of bruising on the face or the arms or the back, faintly smelling of his father’s heavy whiskey. It was well known that Lucas was not a man to cross or stand up to, and Alec had always sworn he would never turn out like his father in either temperament or actions.

And to John, this was the wake-up call Alec needed. Because he was very much like his father in several aspects.

Alec, for his part, was not so blinded as to miss the irony of this situation with the one he’d left with Miller. He wondered fleetingly for a moment if her world had seemed to shrink when hearing the accusation he had thrown at her, if a roaring had taken over her senses; he felt rooted to the floor, a tight knot of emotions so tumultuous he wasn’t sure he could keep contained roiling deep in his gut. A chalice of despair and horror, he recalled dimly, reciting from a book he had read several years ago. That was what he felt like now.

And that was when his heart lurched, a familiar sensation in his chest. He froze, taken aback by its suddenness—but then it didn’t stop. Normally with this his heart fluttered for a few seconds before sickeningly stabilizing again but it didn’t now. 

Panicked he lurched forward, his hand unconsciously pressing at his chest, feeling for his heartbeat. It was too fast, too faint. All it felt like was a terrible fluttering that only grew in intensity, building faster and harsher every second—and it _wasn’t stopping_.

He heard John calling out in alarm but he hardly cared. It was like a repeat of the night on Briar Cliff, unable to stand or call out, conscious only of the fact that he couldn’t breathe.

_Oh god oh god oh god oh god_ oh god

His vision was blurring, faint, starting to blacken. His heart was still jumping, unable to level out, and felt full-out panic overtaking everything. 

Hands, rough in their fear, helped him to the floor. A glint of blonde hair caught his attention for a second—Becca, a tiny part of him realized, speaking to a phone. John’s terrified face swam into view, calling to him. He wondered if the terror in his eyes mirrored his own as he sank into velvety blackness, his last thought a plea.

_Help me._

0000000

Ellie had shattered a picture frame. Its sad ruins twinkled softly in the sunlight falling through the window, the picture itself torn from the glass. Joe’s face was nearly unrecognizable from the damage. Huddled into a ball by the couch, Ellie looked at it silently, distrustfully, hatefully. 

Maybe if she simply sat here it would all go away. Maybe if she shut out the world long enough none of this would have happened. Maybe… maybe…

Her phone buzzed. Startled, she jumped and wondered where she had left it. Oh, that’s right, in her coat pocket—currently hallway across the room. 

The world wasn’t allowing her to ignore it.

She fought it. For five more rings she ignored it, and it finally stopped, leaving her blessed silence once again—and two seconds later it started to buzz again. Was it more insistent than before?

Cursing, she staggered to her feet and jerked it into view, not even pausing to see who it was. There was only one person, after all, who would be calling her.

“I am not talking to you right now, Alec, so you can bloody well stop—“

“Ellie.”

She froze, startled. “John?” She had given him her number, of course, in case he did need something but she hadn’t really thought he’d use it. “What—?”

“You need to get to the hospital,” he said bluntly.

Her heart clenched. Her fingers tightened on the phone, and she had to swallow hard before she could speak again. “Who?”

His voice was tight, suppressing emotions she was sure he did not want her to hear. “It’s Alec. He’s had a heart attack. The doctors don’t know if he’ll make it.”


	7. Chapter 7

Mark Latimer was just pulling onto a side street, heading for home after fixing a burst pipe, when he passed Ellie Miller’s car going in the opposite direction. Curious (she rarely ever drove with such speed, after all) he looked after her for a moment. She was turning left. He frowned. Turning left meant only a few different places in the town: only the police station and the hospital, and she would only be speeding for one of those things.

He hadn’t spoken with Ellie ever since that day of Joe Miller’s confession. He had known, like Beth had, that she had watched them light the beacon for Danny but they had both shunned her. Ellie had tried to reach out to them both, in her own way, but it had been Beth who shoved her away. Of course, Mark had been too filled with his own sense of fury to think clearly and had wholeheartedly agreed that they should have nothing to do with the Miller family.

But now the fury was waning, dying away to nothing, and he found sometimes that he missed Ellie; missed her easy-going company, missed their Sunday brunches together (something Chloe used to say was their ‘second breakfast’, whatever the hell that meant). Joe’s betrayal had torn them apart better than anything else could have.

Watching her, Mark began to wonder if maybe Beth’s fury was finally waning, too. The big clue was Ellie’s number was still in Beth’s phone, something he had stumbled across by accident a couple of weeks ago.

That was why this day he finally brought up their old friend’s name. “Passed Ellie on the way here,” he said quietly. He had kissed Beth in greeting after setting his coat down, and was now placing his shoes by the door. 

Beth was back in the kitchen, preparing for an early dinner, and stiffened when hearing her old friend’s name. “Did you,” she said flatly. 

Well, at least she wasn’t telling him to shut up. Mark nodded and leaned against the doorway. Chloe was up in her room, hopefully finishing her homework. “Heading for the hospital, I think.”

Beth’s long fingers paused, holding her knife aloft. “What did she do this time, put Fred in danger?” she asked snidely.

“Beth…” Mark pushed off of the doorway, running a hand through his hair. He needed to get it cut. “Can you just—please, don’t say stuff like that.”

“She didn’t seem to have any problem putting her boys in danger before,” Beth argued, turning to look at him. “Why wouldn’t she now?”

“Maybe because she didn’t know about—that.” He was speaking quietly, as softly as he could, because if one thing counseling had taught him it was that Beth listened better without anger or shouting. It was still too hard to mention out loud what that bastard had been doing with Danny.

"She had to have known.” Beth turned back to the sink and started cutting potatoes with more force than before. But the denial wasn’t said quite as vehemently as before.

Mark came up behind her. “It wasn’t like your mum’s brother,” he said, and then winced when he saw Beth’s fingers suddenly tighten on the knife. It was a point that he had been thinking about for several weeks now, that old skeleton in Beth’s family’s closet. There was a reason, after all, why Chloe and Danny didn’t even know that their grandma had a brother.

“My aunt, you mean,” she growled spitefully, “sitting at home allowing her husband to have sex with their oldest girl.”

“And she was home all the time,” Mark reminded her. “She definitely knew and did nothing about it.”

“What of it?” Beth demanded.

Mark took a breath. Sometimes it was extremely draining arguing with Beth when she was like this. “So look at Ellie, Beth. No, don’t say anything, just think about it. What was Ell doing during the case?”

Beth was silent for a long moment, jaw working and anger smoldering in her dark eyes. “Working on finding Danny’s killer,” she finally said.

“And you know she was never home.”

Something dropped in her expression; a little of her defiance slipped away. Her denial, however, was not going to drop without a fight. “She should have known that he was up to something,” she argued. “How could she not tell that her own husband was meeting with Danny?”

“How did we not notice what Danny was doing?”

There it was. The sentence that was his counter-offense. It was the one thing that lay unspoken between them, all through these months of grieving and counseling and piecing their lives back together; that horrible guilt that pressed down on them both, making them wonder how they had not seen a change in their youngest child. Because when they really sat down and looked at the entire situation, they wondered if Danny’s death was somehow their fault.

With the accusation finally in the open, it seemed to snap whatever control Beth had. She seemed to sag, the whole weight of the world falling on her shoulders, and finally _finally_ she started to cry again.

Following Danny’s funeral she had bottled all of her tears and anger up, refusing to allow herself a time to cry and release everything that had built up. Mark had done the same, but had finally started to realize that that was dangerous. Without that release, as awful as it felt, all of the poison of their emotions started to kill them.

His own heart breaking, Mark pulled his shuddering wife into his arms, resting his cheek in her hair. His arms were shaking, but he only gripped her tighter, the swell of her stomach pressed between them. She was very pregnant. 

The sun started to set. Still they stood, united in their grief: both at the reminding of what they’d lost, and at the ruined friendship that hung over them both. 

“Mum? Dad?”

Chloe’s voice broke them apart, wiping their tears away from flushed faces with shaking hands. Their daughter did not mention their looks at all, knowing what she had walked into; she had overheard their conversation. 

Danny’s death had taught her strength. Strength to speak up—even against—her parents and others when she thought they were going astray.

“Ellie misses you, Mum,” she said now, quietly. She was soft and quiet in the dim light, but earnest. She swallowed, nervously shifting on her feet. “And I know you miss her.”

Beth was outnumbered, and her resolve was crumbling. The atmosphere had shifted in the house, and suddenly she dared a shaky smile. She walked over to her daughter and brushed a strand of soft blonde hair. “Older than you are, Chloe. That what I’d told you.”

0000000

The hospital was quiet when Ellie found her way in. It was evening now, and it seemed like everything had settled down for the most part.

John was sitting, pale, in a side hallway outside a room near (but not in) the ICU. It seemed that he had not moved at all for a long time because when he turned at the sound of her footsteps he grimaced and his back cracked.

“What happened?” she demanded. 

John shook his head helplessly. “He came to my hotel room. You two had a fight?” He looked at her and sighed when she nodded. “He accused me and… we argued. And then suddenly he collapsed. Becca called an ambulance and he was rushed here.” His voice was strained, and suddenly he sat forward to rest his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face tiredly. “God. Never thought I’d see something like that. Especially not…”

Not a friend. If Alec and John even were still friends. Ellie silently cursed Alec’s customary lashing out at others but took a seat beside him. They sat in awful silence for what seemed like forever—and finally a doctor came into view. Ellie swallowed and John straightened, waiting. The man’s face was grim, and despite her anger Ellie’s stomach tightened.

“John O’Bailey?” the doctor asked, stopping in front of them.

John nodded. “Aye.” Apparently unable to wait he fidgeted nervously for a moment before finally speaking, “Please, sir, what—?”

“You were lucky you were there,” the doctor interrupted softly. “If you had not it would be likely your friend would have been dead in minutes. Mr. Hardy had a severe heart attack, as I’m sure you were told earlier.”

“But he’s alright now?” Ellie demanded. 

The doctor looked at her. His grim expression had not shifted. “You were the one with him a few months ago, were you not?” At her nod, he shifted on his feet. “He has a heart condition, as you already know. Heart arrhythmia. Normally, such a heart problem is not severe. In fact, most people normally have an episode of it every day. Nothing bad, and you don’t even notice. But there are times that it can become dangerous. A previous heart problem, or an illness, can be its cause. We’re not sure the exact type of heart arrhythmia Mr. Hardy has, we're waiting for the test results, but it was much more severe than we initially thought.” He sighed, suddenly looking weary, and Ellie felt her stomach drop. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do to help him.”

Stunned silence. Both John and Ellie looked up at the solemn-eyed doctor, unable to comprehend. Her hands twisting in her lap, Ellie sat forward. “And—what does that mean?” she managed to ask.

He looked down at her in sympathy, knowing what his words were causing. “It means,” he said quietly, “that it’s only a matter of time now.”

Her lips felt numb. Her entire body felt numb. “But—the pacemaker surgery—“

“Would be 100 percent fatal,” the doctor said gently. He looked between them quietly for a moment. “He’s had two major heart attacks in the space of a few months. He’s run his body ragged, and today was the last straw for it.” He motioned to the door. “He’s stabilized. You can go and see him.”

0000000

John went to see him first. Ellie stayed where she was seated in the hallway, staring at the opposite wall feeling very small and very very lost. Her coat was probably going to tear from the way she was twisting it in her lap, but she didn’t notice. She could only think of the doctor’s finalizing words.

_Dying. He’s dying._

When John finally emerged she barely noticed his red eyes, and hesitated at the door, suddenly afraid. She hated hospitals, she hated seeing people in hospitals. But finally she kicked herself; she had seen this already, had already seen Alec following a heart attack. Why was she having so much trouble now?

She opened the door and was hit by the normal white walls and antiseptic spray that every hospital had. The lights were dimly lit, casting everything into soft shadow. The bed, however, had all of her attention. Monitors beeped and hummed around all its sides, counting out heart beats and other vitals that seemed much too irregular for a human body. In the awful yawning blandness of everything it was only Alec’s reddish hair that stood out; his skin was white and waxy, a thin sheen of sweat painted across his face. He was hooked up to oxygen, but even with its help he seemed to be struggling to breathe.

Ellie swallowed hard, wondering why it was that the two of them could never be normal human beings. They always seemed to bicker and fight, always opened wounds with their words that always left their conversations on a bad note. That left them bleeding and raw. Alec’s final words to her still sat heavily between them, still made her heart burn, but suddenly she found herself praying to a god she didn’t believe in for him to wake up. 

They couldn’t leave things like this. Not now.

She reached out and grabbed hold of his hand, gently rubbing her thumb over the rough skin of his palm. “If you die, I’ll kill you myself,” she whispered. A tear fell silently on their intertwined hands.


	8. Chapter 8

It was the next day before Beth decided to try to contact Ellie. It had been so long since she had even talked aloud about her old friend that she was afraid now that maybe, just maybe, Ellie’s naturally forgiving heart had hardened towards her. Nonetheless, Beth kicked herself into action. She had never been one to simply sit and do nothing; action, that was what she understood and it was what kept her sane. 

Ellie’s number flashed brightly on the screen of her phone. She sighed. She had never deleted the number, although she’d been tempted to several times, which was what was confusing her now. Why hadn’t she deleted it?

She tapped the call button before she could lose her nerve. Before she could be tempted to throw the phone across the room and watch in satisfaction as it shattered against the wall.

The phone rang three times before it picked up, and even then there was a slight hesitation on the other end. Finally, though: “Beth?”

Ellie’s voice was rough and tired, clearly from a lack of sleep; Beth thought she heard the sound of a man speaking in the background, Scottish, so she quickly focused again only on her old friend. “Ellie.” She swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say or what to do. “I, um—I… Mark and Chloe, they, uh, finally talked some sense into me last night…” Silence on the other end. “Ellie?”

“I’m still here.” Her voice was flat; not from anger, Beth hoped.

“Well, I’m just calling because I- I want to apologize to you. And the boys. Properly, I mean, not just over the phone, yeah? So—“

“I’ll be home in about five hours,” Ellie interrupted, still in that awful flat voice. She sounded like she was struggling with sudden tears. “I’ll give you a ring when I get there, and you can come over.” And then she hung up without another word. 

Astonished, Beth looked down at the phone in her hand. Ellie had never hung up on her before. It couldn’t have been what she had said, could it? She was seized by the fear that maybe it was too late to make amends; maybe Ellie had had enough of Beth’s hatred of her.

But if that was the case, why was it that it sounded like Ellie had been crying before she’d answered her phone?

0000000

John had left to find some coffee, feeling like both he and Ellie could use some having been awake for so long. They had stayed for as long as they could at the hospital the previous night, but eventually the nurses had forced them to leave. Alec was stable enough, they had said. They’d even said that he could wake up sometime today. So Ellie had picked up her boys from Olly’s and filled them in with what was happening and had spent a sleepless night in her living room. Luckily it was a school day so Tom would be there for most of the day, and she would only have to worry about Fred. 

She’d left early for the hospital, and so had been there for a while before her phone rang. 

Having ended the call, Ellie sighed and hung her head, trying to ignore her exhaustion. She hadn’t meant to be so short to Beth, she really hadn’t, but hearing her old friend call her up now was entirely too painful and ironic and she hadn’t wanted to completely lose it over the phone and end up a sobbing and blubbering mess. No way would Beth want to deal with that.

True to what the nurses had stated, Alec was still stable when she’d come in although still very much unconscious. Some of the machinery and such had been taken away during the night so it wasn’t quite so crowded or overwhelming, and his heartbeat had leveled out a little as well. He was still hooked up to oxygen.

‘He’s stubborn,’ the doctor had said just an hour earlier. ‘He’s already bouncing back a little. Most patients take a couple of days to do that.’

Ellie could have told him that, anyway, since she had seen Alec get up the day after his last heart attack and continue working on Danny’s case.

John handing her a cup of steaming coffee broke her away from her thoughts, and she muttered a quiet thanks before taking a sip. The brew was bitter—he hadn’t put anything in it—and she almost a made a face but knew that she needed the caffeine. She’d go look for some sugar to put in it later. Together they sat in silence, just as they had the day before; and then finally John spoke up. 

“I take it you two argued.”

Ellie nodded, taking another drink. “I don’t know how it happened,” she confessed, still honestly confused how she and Alec had come to fighting that morning. “One minute we were fine—great even—and then suddenly we’re arguing and hurling insults at one another.” She sighed. “And then he said Beth was right to stay away from me.”

John’s mouth thinned. “Low blow,” he said, understanding what hurt that accusation must have caused.

“He’s like that, though,” she said, shaking her head. “When he’s frustrated he lashes out.”

“He didn’t when I knew him.”

She looked over at John, curious. “What was he like, then? Before he arrested you?”

John shrugged, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. For a long moment he was silent, clearly looking at past memories. “Quiet. Shy. He was the bookworm, which always made others laugh, ‘cos I was the total opposite. But he knew his manners and was a lot less likely to talk back than I was. When he lost his temper, though…” He chuckled to himself. 

“Explosive?” Ellie asked, a mite dryly. She had, after all, been the focus of his temper more than once.

“Very. One of the few traits he inherited from his dad. He didn’t really lose it much, though, he’d let it build up first. I heard stories from the other lads in the police force that they were all very afraid of pissing him off.” He took a drink before frowning. “He was sarcastic but he wasn’t bitter, not like he is now.” He sighed, shifting again. “I dunno. Sometimes I have to wonder why God gives us the lives that he does.”

She hadn’t thought that he believed in God. She looked at him quietly for a moment, then leaned forward. “Why did you come here, John? Why come find Alec if you have family?”

He was silent again for a long moment, looking down at the coffee in his cup. “My family comes from a very Presbyterian family. Raised in the church, brought up on the Bible. We had rules, see, in our family. No cussing. No premarital sex. No drinking. And after you were married no divorcing.” He caught Ellie’s understanding nod. “And of course I told you all about what happened between me and Freya. When I got out of jail, I went to my parents first. Dad had died, Ellie, while I was locked up. Mum hadn’t told me. She told me I couldn’t stay under her roof anymore. Left me standing out in the rain.”

Ellie raised a hand to her mouth, shocked and hurt on his behalf. “That’s awful.”

He managed a small, bitter smile. “Guess I should have realized she wouldn’t want a murderer living under her roof.”

“But that doesn’t make it right!” It was refreshing now to find herself feeling for someone else’s plight, refreshing to know that she could be angry on someone’s behalf. It made her feel like her old self a little bit. 

He shook his head. “It doesn’t. But it is what it is. I was hoping that Alec wouldn’t be quite as set off like Mum was.”

Which hadn’t happened. “He told me once, during Danny’s case… ‘Anybody is capable of murderer, given the right circumstances.’ I always thought that was just one of his usual depressing shit pieces of philosophy.”

Her last comment garnered a genuine grin. “I think I like you, Ellie Miller.” He took one last swig of his coffee, finishing it off, and threw it in the trash. “You made sure to always tell him off, though?”

“Always.”

“Good.” He stood again. “Gotta go take a piss. Be right back.”

She found herself smiling a little as she sat back in her own seat. She and John really hadn’t talked much over the past couple of days but she enjoyed it when they did. He was very real, what you saw was what you got. It was refreshing, too, having company that wasn’t automatically judging or disbelieving. Or even quite like Alec, who was always dour.

At that moment his fingers twitched, as if in response to her thoughts, and she straightened. Trust John’s timing to be completely wrong! Quietly she leaned over the bed and grabbed hold of his hand again, hoping maybe that would help him surface. His skin was like ice. His eyelashes fluttered as he suddenly grimaced, and slowly he clawed his way to consciousness. It took him a second to focus on her.

“Hey,” he croaked.

Ellie placed a bag of grapes beside him, wanting to smack him. “This time, you bloody wanker,” she told him with dangerous sweetness, “I bought the ones with seeds.”

A rough, dusty chuckle was her answer, and then he grimaced again.

“What’s wrong?” Ellie wanted to kick herself for the question (what wasn’t wrong now?) but she hoped he would take it as meant.

He did. “Throat’s dry.”

The doctor had told her and John that it would be. Wordlessly she reached for the glass of water they’d kept for this reason.

When finally his thirst was sated he fell back against the bed again with a low groan. He was breathing too heavily. “How bad?”

She should have known he would ask that, perceptive as he was, but she was caught off-guard, unprepared for the icy hand that suddenly started to squeeze her by the throat. She could only blink stupidly at him as she struggled to find words.

How did you explain to someone that they were dying?

He picked up on it. One eyebrow quirked. “That bad?”

She swallowed hard, answer enough.

He laughed again, that awful ironic little laugh. “How long?” She didn’t have to ask what he meant.

How was he taking this so calmly? She shook her head. “They don’t know. It could be days. It could be tomorrow. It could be a couple weeks. Your heart’s run itself down.”

“I don’t want to stay here.” His words weren’t so much a request as a plea. His barriers had dropped slightly; without such tight control he looked very vulnerable, and suddenly very young. “Please.”

She was silent for a long moment, looking at him. She wanted to say that it was best if he stayed in the hospital, where he could be taken care of; it was on the tip of her tongue to say so, but found herself unable to say it. “On one condition.”

He seemed relieved that she wouldn’t fight him. “What?”

“You have to apologize to John first.”

0000000

When Beth and Mark made their way over to Ellie’s house, it seemed like the latter had barely arrived there before them. She was busy picking things up and cleaning off the table, wiping things in the kitchen down. Beth frowned. Was it that bad by herself, without Joe there to help clean things up?

“I, uh- I’m sorry about the mess,” Ellie said, as if in response to Beth’s thoughts. She was brimming with nervous energy, unable to stand still. “I, um- I haven’t been home much the past couple of days.”

“Saw you heading to the hospital,” Mark said quietly.

She turned to look at them fully. She looked exhausted, her hair hastily pulled back and un-brushed and deep circles under her eyes. She looked, Beth realized suddenly, like she had during Danny’s case. “Yeah,” she said softly, blinking, “yeah, I was.”

“Is everything alright? It’s not--?”

“No, Tom and Fred are fine,” she cut in hastily. “They’re both fine. Tom should be heading home soon, actually…” But then she trailed off as her thoughtless sentence registered for what it would seem like for the couple standing across from her. Danny should have been walking home with Tom.

“Who is then?” Beth asked, more to break the awful silence than anything.

Ellie paused, as if unsure whether she should tell them. “Alec Hardy.”

Beth frowned. Mark’s face closed off: it was well known that he held no love for Alec for how he had been treated during Danny’s case. “I didn’t even know he was still here.”

Ellie looked at them in astonishment. “He didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“So what’s wrong?” Beth asked impatiently, because she wanted to get this over with quickly.

“He had a heart attack.” Ellie seated herself at the table, and wordlessly gestured for them to do the same.

“Well… not a bad one, right?” Beth asked, as brightly as she could. She was sure her attempt was ghastly, and she wondered why Ellie cared at all for the gruff, unhappy former DI. “At least he’s still alive.”

Ellie flinched, and Beth felt her stomach drop. Oh no. Her old friend’s fingers were shaking, and she clasped them together. “He’s dying, Beth.”

The Latimers froze. Mark’s slightly-sneering expression when hearing Alec’s name mentioned melted into flabbergasted astonishment. For a long moment none of them moved.

“But—he was fine during Danny’s case,” Beth protested. “He—how could he be dying?”

“Heart arrhythmia. A bad case of it. A couple of days before he arres- before he solved Danny’s case, he was in the hospital. He’d had a heart attack chasing a suspect. A bad one. The doctors told me he went into cardiac arrest before reaching the hospital. The bloody idiot woke up the following morning an discharged himself.”

Beth’s jaw dropped. Mark blinked. “He did what?”

Ellie nodded. “Came into work and continued the case as if he wasn’t still slurring half his words and walking half-dead. Still as sharp as ever, though.”

Beth shook her head wonderingly. “He discharged himself…” she whispered, a new horrified respect lacing her tone.

Ellie’s dark eyes were solemn. “He needed to see that case through. He told me, ‘I can’t let the family down’. Neither of us felt we could.”

Beth couldn’t meet her gaze. “I’m still angry,” she confessed quietly. “And I still want to ask you how you didn’t know—“ Both of them flinched at the same time, but she stubbornly pressed on. “But you were working on solving Danny’s murder. I forgot about that. You still brought my boy justice.”

“Not me.” Ellie was clearly fighting back tears; compulsively she moved forward, as if to lay her hands on top of Beth’s like they used to. “I didn’t know anything until Alec told me.”

“You still worked on it,” Mark interjected, hoping his wife wouldn’t close up again at Ellie’s confession. “Every day. You were there, doing your job. And uh—“ He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We took a while to think straight, but we eventually remembered that you aren’t one to keep secrets like that. You would’ve done something about our husband’s actions before it could- before anything happened.”

Something in Ellie’s posture dropped away, as if she didn’t have to pretend that she was strong anymore. Some of the oppressive atmosphere dissipated. “I should have known,” she whispered.

Beth swallowed, her own eyes bright. “We all should have.”


	9. Chapter 9

Ellie was gone for the evening, settled at home with her boys; John sat silent vigil beside Alec’s bed, cradling what seemed to be his hundredth cup of coffee in his lap. It was quiet, almost peaceful somehow now. Wrapped in fragile solitude he nearly felt like he could relax a little bit, lulled by the silence of this wing of the hospital, choosing to ignore—however weakly—the situation his old friend was in. By himself he could think and sift through everything that had happened, but now all he wondered was how the hell he had ended up here.

“You’re going to hurt yourself thinking too hard.”

Alec’s quiet mumble startled him, spilling the coffee over his hand when he jumped. Muffling a curse, he raised his burnt hand to his mouth and sucked at the red skin, glaring at his old friend. Alec had barely shifted, hadn’t even bothered opening his eyes completely, but John thought there was the smallest hint of a grin hidden there beneath that dark beard.

He rolled his eyes at the old joke. “If I only had a brain to hurt, yeah, I know,” he retorted, the well-used reply rolling off his tongue. “I can’t help it if you were always better at academics.”

Alec snorted. “Bullshit. You just didn’t apply yourself to studying.”

“Aye, that’s what I had you for.” It was surprising how the easy bantering came back. It was almost as if their confrontation had never happened. John shifted uncomfortably. “I- uh, I’m sorry for, um, any part I had in that heart attack, by the way.”

Alec was silent for a long moment, his chest rising and falling slowly as he took a deep breath. Just when John thought he wouldn’t receive a reply, Alec finally replied quietly, “It was coming for a while. Just didn’t know when.”

John stared at him. “The heart attack?”

Alec nodded slightly. In the light he still looked wan. Sick. He was still breathing with difficulty, like he couldn’t ever seem to catch a deep enough breath. “They’d already said they couldn’t help me,” he admitted. “I’d waited too long…”

“What about a heart transplant?” Suddenly agitated, John sat forward. “You’re only in your forties, after all, it shouldn’t be that hard to get on a list!”

“Wouldn’t have the time to wait.” For a moment they merely looked at each other. “I’m going to be dead in less than a month. Waiting on a list is at least six months.”

“Alec—“

“Don’t.” There was just enough fire to Alec’s tone that John paused before he really started. He swallowed hard. “Remember when you told me about your great-uncle, back in school, about his heart attack?”

John nodded, feeling a little bit sick when he realized where his old friend was going with this. 

“What did he say afterwards, in the hospital?”

“’I’m done’,” John whispered; his fingers were clasping his cup of coffee so hard he was sure it would start to break. He had never admitted aloud just how much those two little words had scared him. Young, barely old enough to graduate, he had been genuinely distressed by the idea of anyone—much less a well-loved great-uncle—saying they were ‘done’. It hadn’t been the idea of Uncle Harry dying, nor had it been the thought of being there; at that point, John had been horrified by the idea that anyone could know they would die. Uncle Harry had fought in the Second World War, had witnessed things no one else in the family had, and had seemed to possess more strength than anyone else John had ever known. To hear him say he was done living had been terrifying—because his great-uncle was simply conceding to life, without fuss, without anger, as if it had been the most logical thing in the world to say that of course death could come and claim him.

“But you’re not him.” He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “I came here, to Broadchurch, to apologize, Alec. For what my actions did to you.” He shook his head, reliving those days following his killing Freya. “I still don’t regret what I did. I never will.”

“John—“

“Just let me finish!” he snapped, shaking. “It was a betrayal to you, I know it was, and I knew afterwards that it would probably cut a rift between us, if I ever got out of jail. And it did. But those fifteen years… well, I had time to think.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “It was hell there, Alec. Jail. Absolute hell. I never got the worst of it, there were always other in-mates who were targets, but just being there, seeing everything… it does things to you.”

“What do want?” Alec said gruffly. “Sympathy?”

“You haven’t had the easiest life either these past fifteen years, either,” John snapped. “Ellie says you’re divorced, and I’ve been able to read the occasional paper. ‘Worst Cop in Britain’, is it?”

He expected Alec to respond with anger, indignation; he was surprised, then, when instead the former cop suddenly seemed to wilt, the fire of just a moment before dying out. He swallowed hard, looking away. “I failed a case.”

“Is that all?” It was John’s turn to speak a mite snidely.

“My wife was having an affair. She lost crucial evidence and it allowed a girl’s murderer to walk free.”

Oh. Shit. John was tempted to find something to smash his head against, but ultimately decided that would be a little bit too immature for his age. He settled for a face-palm. “Damn. Neither of us have learned to keep our mouths shut, have we?”

He definitely caught a grin now as Alec shook his head. “Miller told me I couldn’t leave the hospital unless I apologized to you first.”

Startled, he looked at his old friend. “Strict woman. I like her more every minute.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Shut up, I’m trying to decide whether I can without giving myself an aneurysm.”

“Very funny.”

“Would it count if I didn’t but told her I did?”

John snorted. “Not bloody likely. You’re an awful liar.” He was amazed how easily they were falling into the old familiar ribbing, but quickly sobered. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry I- brought up your dad.”

Alec was silent again for a long time. “Suppose I needed it,” he admitted quietly. “Miller’s right. I can be an arse sometimes.” Then, even more quietly: “I’m sorry, too. For what I said.”

John couldn’t help but grin, leaning in. “Didn’t catch that, sorry.”

“Don’t make me repeat it, so help me…”


	10. Chapter 10

Mark Latimer woke late in the night to an empty bed, the covers beside him untouched; Beth had not come to bed. Concerned he rose to his feet and silently made his way out of their room and down the stairs. Pale moonlight streaked the carpeted floors, wrapping everything in the calm and quiet of night. She wasn’t in the bathroom, nor was she looking in on Chloe (which both Mark and Beth did now), and wasn’t in the kitchen.

He finally found her seated awkwardly on the floor of the living room near the sliding glass door, photo albums spread in a messy circle around her. Facing away from the doorway she didn’t immediately notice his presence, but he thought he heard a low sniffle like she was holding back tears.

“Beth.”

With a low gasp she jumped and turned, a pile of photos falling from her hands to spill on the floor. “Mark!”

She was struggling to rise to her feet. “No, no, Beth, don’t get up.” He hurried to reach her side and seat himself beside her so that she didn’t have to worry about climbing the furniture to stand. Once there he discovered what it was she had been looking at and he couldn’t help his low but sharp intake of breath. Pictures of the Latimer and Miller families together beamed up at him, from vacations to days spent at the beach to simple Sunday brunches. There was a picture of Danny and Tom muddied and tousled from playing a game of football on a wet afternoon; underneath it Beth and Chloe and Ellie giggled in the Latimer’s kitchen, covered with flour that had flown everywhere; beside that Joe Miller and Nigel and Mark himself smiled for the camera, taken by Danny’s shaky inexperienced hands. The pictures were such an unexpected punch to the gut he almost felt winded.

Beth swallowed. “I couldn’t sleep,” she explained shakily. “Too uncomfortable.”

Mark nodded, understanding. It happened a lot to her, these days. It had been like that with Chloe and Danny. He looked at her silently for a long moment, waiting to see if she would continue in her explanation.

She did. “I cleaned the kitchen, scrubbed the bathroom sink… and then I knocked over some stuff in the closet and these fell out. And I…” She trailed off, swallowing again. Her eyes were lined red. Slowly she took a deep shaking breath and met his gaze. “I’m not betraying Danny, am I?” she asked softly. “By accepting Ellie back in?”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Beth,” Mark said tiredly, shaking his head. 

“I can’t help it, Mark. I just- I want to do right by my little boy. Is it wrong that I want to let Ellie back in?” Her tone was so bewildered, so lost, that Mark pulled her as close as he could, aching to comfort her. He dreaded saying the wrong thing.

“No,” he said finally. Decisively. “Please, Beth, don’t do this. Don’t overthink it. You’ve already reconciled with Ell. Don’t push her away again.” Secretly he didn’t think either his wife or Ellie would be able to handle that if it happened, however much Beth may protest otherwise.

Beth sighed against his shoulder. “It’s hard,” she confessed, “holding onto all my anger. I’m so tired.”

He kissed the top of her head, knowing how she felt. He didn’t have an answer for her, but that was alright because she didn’t expect him to.

“Come on. Let’s get to bed.” He helped her to her feet, leaving the photo albums on the floor. They caused too much pain and confusion to mess with now. Too many of those smiles frozen in time were wounds. 

0000000

Paul had not slept at all, choosing instead to walk along his normal path whenever his insomnia grew too great. He was trying, also, to think of a sermon for the coming Sunday. Sometimes the ideas came easily, born from his own struggles or something one of his congregation told him offhand—but other times he didn’t think of anything until Friday or even Saturday morning. It always came together, though, in the end; just one of the several little ways that he knew that the Lord was there. Sometimes, he thought, people needed to ignore the things God didn’t do and instead focus on the good things he did.

He didn’t normally go to the church so early in the morning but today he decided he would try to work on his sermon ideas, then perhaps go down to the Traders and help Becca with whatever bills she needed figuring. 

He was surprised, therefore, when he approached the front doors to find a stranger waiting by them. He frowned, surprised; he rarely had visitors come to pray or ask questions. Beth was one of the few who did even though he kept the doors open throughout the day.

“Can I help you?”

The man turned, and Paul realized he did know him; John, the Scotsman he’d seen with Ellie Miller a few days ago. “Aye,” he said, striding forward with a hand outstretched. After Paul had stepped back from shaking it, he looked him up and down. “Ellie tells me you’re good at being a vicar.”

Paul felt a blush try to crawl across his face. “I try my best,” he said modestly. “I don’t always succeed. What do you need, then?” He was wondering what would bring this man here.

“I’m here for a friend, actually.” John shifted slightly from foot to foot, deliberating on the right choice of words. “Ellie said you know Alec Hardy.”

Paul paused for a long moment, looking at him with wary confusion. “Yes,” he answered slowly, carefully. “I can’t say we’re anything close to friends.”

He was only more confused by John’s answering small smile. “No,” he agreed thoughtfully, “I don’t think you would be.” But he was off on his explanation before Paul could ask him what he meant. “He’s in hospital. I wanted to know if you would be willing to see him.”

In hospital? Paul blinked, taken aback. He had just seen Hardy in the church only a few days prior. But then he recalled Becca telling him how the former copper had had a heart attack at the Traders—ironically arguing with John, he realized. “He’ll probably just kick me out,” he warned him.

John smirked. “He’ll be on his best behavior, I promise. He’s not getting out of the hospital otherwise.” Very quickly he sobered again, however; Paul could see how serious he was. ‘Please, Paul. He doesn’t have much time.”

If the news that Hardy was in hospital was shocking this was even more so. He had to struggle to keep from his mouth falling open. He was vaguely surprised by how he felt his heart drop a little; he knew, after all, what John was after now. He nodded; what else could he do? “I’ll visit him as soon as I can.”

And he did. He stayed in his office/study space in the corner of the church for a few hours, praying and contemplating of what he should do and say when he made it to the hospital; but finally the morning came and went and afternoon was slowly waning and he decided to head on his way. Slipping his jacket on he walked out of the church, closing the doors behind him. He didn’t drive, choosing to walk most of the places he wanted to get to, and so the sun was just beginning to set when he reached the hospital. Looking in the parking lot he didn’t see Ellie’s car anywhere and wondered if he would be talking with Hardy with company there.

As the vicar he was allowed access anywhere in the hospital where he was needed, so he very quickly found the room he was looking for. Hardy was awake and seemed to be expecting him, albeit resignedly, restlessly running his thumb over the corner of a closed book. When hearing Paul’s footsteps he looked over, watching the vicar silently. Paul felt like he was being scrutinized, but with this man that was a normal feeling.

“I was hoping John had been lying when he said he’d invited you over,” Hardy commented finally, breaking the heavy silence.

Paul took a deep breath. This was going to be a long visit. “He seems concerned for you,” he replied quietly. “Frankly, I don’t know why.”

That got a smirk. “Is the vicar feeling vindictive today?”

“If you’re going to taunt me as soon as I walk through the door, yes.” Paul sat down on one of the vacated seats, crossing his legs. “He came to me as someone wanting to help a friend. I told him I would come, even though I also told him you would most likely throw me out what with your hatred of the church and all.”

It was a deliberate jab, something Paul did not feel guilty for; Hardy, after all, always gave as good as he got. Except that last time, seeing him in the church. At that time Hardy had actually been vaguely pleasant to talk to.

He was taken aback, now, to hear Hardy’s reply. “Do you know what I hate most about the Church? About Christians in general?” 

“No.” Paul supposed it was for one of the reasons Hardy had told him during Danny Latimer’s murder case.

“It’s the fact that you preach about a loving, forgiving God. A God who cares.” A sneer was evident in the curl of his lips, in his dark eyes. “Tell me how a loving caring God can sit back and let murder and rape and incest and all the shit in the world happen?”

Paul leaned forward. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “Some people think it’s because God is letting us sleep in the bed we created. But I don’t have a certain answer.” He waited, seeing if maybe Hardy would fight that answer. “That’s a question I come across a lot. I wish I had a better explanation. But I don’t.” He was quiet for a long moment. “I was right before, wasn’t I? You have some knowledge of God. You’d have to, growing up in Scotland.”

Hardy was quiet so long Paul thought perhaps it would be best if he simply left; but then finally, just as he was preparing to excuse himself, he got a reply. “I know God, but I don’t believe. Never have.” He rolled his eyes. “And now John has you come in to try to convince me to.”

Paul frowned. “I don’t think that’s why,” he said quietly. “He probably feels that you needed someone to talk to about- about what’s happening.”

“I’m going to die,” Hardy said flatly. “What’s there to talk about?”

“You’d be surprised,” Paul retorted dryly. “Do you know what I hate most about non-believers?” he asked then, in clear retaliation to Hardy’s earlier question. “They focus only on the negative. ‘Oh, this happened to me, that happened to my family member. Why would God allow that to happen?’ Maybe what you need to do is get up and continue on. God always provides if you let Him.”

“Yeah?” Hardy raised a scornful eyebrow.

“Yes,” Paul said firmly. “You’re actually a pretty good example of that, actually.”

_“What?”_

The vicar shrugged slightly. “God works in mysterious ways. Sometimes He places people somewhere right where they’re needed most. You solved Danny’s murder—granted, not easily—but Ellie told me later that you were the one to work hardest on it, the one to piece the clues together first. You were there for her, too, after Joe confessed.” He paused. “And maybe John’s here for a reason as well now.” Now he smiled, just a little bit; Hardy was listening. “And just so you know, not all of us Christians are out for fame or recognition or for shoving the Bible down your throat. We stumble and fall and wonder why just as much as everyone else does.”

Hardy snorted. “I respected you, you know,” he confessed suddenly. “When you stood up to me in the station. I may not have agreed with what you said, but not many people ever stands up to me. You did.”

“I don’t let anyone belittle my faith,” Paul said, repeating his words from months earlier, but the small grin playing in his eyes softened his words. “Not even a stubborn stick-up-the-arse copper.”

At that, Hardy laughed outright.


	11. Chapter 11

When Ellie walked to Alec’s hospital room later that evening she knew that Paul would be there, having been told by John that he had gone to inquire the vicar’s presence. What she had not expected, however, was the sound of laughter to come drifting down the hallway towards her. She’d half-expected to find the two of them at each others’ throats with all of the unspoken animosity that stood between them, and she’d told John so when he’d left for the church that morning.

She stopped just within sight of the ward that Alec was in and peeked through the doorway.

“- and then he continues,” Paul was saying, smiling, “coming up with the most absurd lyrics for these songs to poke fun at these atheist bible camps.”

“He sounds inspired,” Alec said dryly, but he couldn’t help the grin that was on his face.

“He sounds crazy,” Paul agreed, nodding. He was holding the book that Alec had been reading and she wondered what story that action told. “And I’m going to bring those books over to you as soon as I’ve found them all.”

“Please,” Alec snorted softly. “As if you’ll get a ‘stick-up-his-arse’ retired copper to read children’s’ stories.”

“We’re all children of the Lord,” Paul said with a straight face, and Ellie’s mouth nearly dropped open, wondering if maybe she was dreaming this. Surely Alec Hardy and Paul Coates could not be joking around like old friends. (And especially not about religion.) She backed away from the doorway and allowed her footsteps to echo just a little bit louder than normal before she entered the room and the conversation. Paul was climbing to his feet; the book had found its way to the side table and all traces of humor had disappeared from Alec’s expression.

“Well, it’s been a stimulating visit,” Paul said, nodding at Ellie, “but I have a sermon to write and I’m sure Ellie would like some time with you. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Not about God, I hope,” Alec said, and if Ellie hadn’t heard his earlier jokes she would have gone up and smacked him. Instead she said goodbye to Paul as he left and waited until his footsteps had faded before walking up to the side of the bed. Alec watched her silently for a long moment. “Miller. Brought any good news today?”

“How do you feel about getting out of here today?”

He visibly brightened. “Brilliant.”

The doctor, as expected, was against Alec’s leaving. But although he was undoubtedly used to Alec’s brand of stubbornness, Ellie’s was a different type altogether and they wore the doctor down in no time. With a sigh the doctor gave Ellie warnings and instructions, and then finally Alec was discharged.

He wasted no time leaving. He was unsteady on his feet, that much Ellie could see clearly, and just a little bit off-balance. Clearly the heart attack done a little more damage this time. But his expression told her not to say a word and so to save his pride she did not. She merely stayed one foot behind him ready to help him if he needed it. He didn’t, and he made it to her parked car without incident. He was silent the entire car ride, and Ellie, now that he was out of the hospital, did not quite know what to say. Leaving the hospital this time was not because he was better.

He didn’t say a word until they had pulled up along the street of her house, and he straightened, pulling the seatbelt tight as he looking out the windshield. “Why are we here?”

“Did you think I’d take you back to your flat?” Ellie asked, a mite scathingly. She parked the car and undid her buckle, looking over at him. “I talked it over with the doctor, and we agreed you couldn’t stay by yourself—“

“I would think that would be for me to decide,” Alec interrupted gruffly, aiming a half-hearted glare in her direction.

She didn’t rise to the bait, too weary for that. “This isn’t something you can do by yourself, Alec,” she said quietly, and the silence that came after was crushing. He knew what she was meaning, and he looked away out of the window. “I’ve discussed it with the boys, and we have it all sorted out.”

He conceded defeat, following her without further protest into the house. Tom was seated at his customary spot at the kitchen table finishing homework, keeping half an ear on Fred who was playing in the living room; he looked up when hearing the door open but quickly went back to his papers. He still only knew Alec as the police officer who had all but accused him of murdering Danny despite Ellie’s explanations of what Alec had really been doing. Ellie let him be for the moment, concerned only that she let her reluctant guest sit.

“Come on. I’ll show you your room.”

0000000

Three days passed, agonizingly slow. There seemed to be little change in any circumstance; Alec’s condition stayed the same, which she was grateful for. John stopped by every day after breakfast and stayed the majority of the afternoons and evenings. He told both Ellie and Alec that he was currently looking for a job somewhere in the town, to which Alec had demanded why he would want to stay so near the ocean. John had answered swiftly by saying he hadn’t seen it all his time is Glasgow and left it at that.

Paul stopped in on the second day, dropping off the books he had been talking with Alec about—The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis. Ellie had never heard of them before but was interested by the cover of the one titled The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe with the faun holding a snow-covered umbrella. Alec, surprisingly, read through three of the seven books in just that one day.

“So these books are Christian?” Ellie asked late that night, reading the back of The Last Battle. 

“That’s what it says,” Alec replied vaguely, halfway through The Horse and His Boy. “Paul was adamant I needed to read them.”

“Really.” She flipped through the one with the faun on the cover. “Didn’t think you’d ever listen to what Paul told you.” She came across a drawing depicting a snowy landscape. “Wouldn’t the satyr freeze in snow?”

“Faun,” he corrected automatically, still entirely engrossed in his current book.

“Sorry?”

“He’s a faun. Roman mythology. A satyr is part of Greek mythology.”

Ellie stared at him, taken aback. “What’s the difference?”

Again he answered without so much as looking up from his place in the book. “A satyr is more horse-like in appearance, a faun is more like a goat. Anyway, satyrs were followers of the Greek god Dionysus and fauns belonged to the Roman god Pan.”

“Aren’t the two gods the same?”

Now he looked at her, but his expression was unimpressed. “Dionysus was the god of wine and fertility. Pan was the god of the wilderness.”

“Don’t feel bad,” John told her from his spot in the living room, sympathetic for her. “He was like this in school.”

Ellie turned to look at Alec again. “Just to be frank, I would never have put you down as someone who liked mythology.”

“Oh, he loved it,” John answered helpfully. “Always reading something or other about it. Greek and Norse. Those were his favorites.” He picked up one of the books and looked at it with distaste. “Books. So boring.”

“Books are stimulating.”

“Yeah, if you have a brain to stimulate.”

Alec glanced over at him with a smirk. “You said it, not me.”

Mark and Beth stopped over once over the three days but Alec retreated to the room Ellie had given him and did not come out until they had left. Beth asked after him, clearly because she felt she had a duty to but Ellie merely shook her head helplessly. They were at an impasse, but it was clear that he was not going to get better. Every day he walked a little slower, a bit more carefully. Several times she caught a quick glimpse of him rubbing at his chest uncomfortably, moments that made her heart leap into her throat

And every day, the more someone checked to see if he was alright or if he had to sit for a moment when a wave of dizziness assaulted him, she saw that carefully-constructed mask of calmness crack just a little bit more. Something was going to have to give sometime soon; if not he was going to either drive himself insane or his body would give out from the stress.

The moment finally came on the night of the third day. Restless, Ellie spent several hours tossing and turning in her bed trying to calm her mind enough to drift off but soon found that she wasn’t going to be able to. Finally conceding defeat around one in the morning Ellie slid out from beneath the covers and walked down the hall, first peeking into Tom’s room, then Fred’s, before finally halting in front of the closed door of the guest room. She hesitated—but not for more than a second—then opened it a bit.

Alec was stretched out on the bed, fast asleep, half burrowed into the coverlet. Despite herself, Ellie grinned; in his sleep he had grabbed hold of a pillow and had curled around it, snoring softly.

Without thinking (afraid she would second guess herself) she slid through the door and gently seated herself on the edge of the bed. The movement of the mattress woke him. Starting awake he shifted away from her, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“Miller—“

“Shh,” she whispered, and quietly climbed over him so that she could press herself against his back. The sheets were pleasantly warm with his body heat and she allowed herself a sigh of contentment as she slid in beside him.

He shifted so that he was facing her. In the moonlight his hair looked streaked with silver. “You know you’re sleeping with a dead man, right?”

“Better now than later,” she replied without bite.

He snorted, yawning. “Wouldn’t want to pull a Poe,” he muttered sarcastically. He smelled of stress and exhaustion.

“A what?”

“Poe. He was an American poet. Lived in the 1800s. He was famous for sleeping on his wife’s grave several times after she died.”

She shifted back. “You’re taking the mickey.”

“I assure you I’m not.”

“That’s- disturbing.” 

“Agreed.” He yawned again and looked vaguely chagrined when he was done. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She dimly realized that that was one of the first times he had ever apologized to her for anything. She shifted, burrowing herself deeper into the covers. His skin still felt cold, like it could give out heat but couldn’t keep it in at all. “Well, then,” she said without thinking, “I guess I can promise you that there’ll be no sleeping on your grave.” 

Too late she realized what she had just said and her mouth opened in horror; just as she was about to apologize, however, he grinned. It wasn’t a large grin but it was genuine.

“I’d appreciate that.” He always had had a rather black sense of humor, she remembered then. Very quickly, however, his grin disappeared into a grimace and he shifted again, one hand reaching up to rub at his chest. Ellie watched him.

“Did it jump?”

He nodded slightly. ‘It doesn’t stop now.” It was the closest he had come to a confession of what he really felt like, and it clearly came at a cost. Something dropped away from his expression and it was him this time who shifted closer to her. Somehow Ellie knew exactly what he wanted and she allowed herself to put away thoughts of Joe and drew him into her arms, very nearly cuddling. For a very long time they simply laid there together listening to their own breathing. He buried his face in the crook of her arm.

“I’m scared, Ellie.”

His simple, quiet confession broke her heart and she fought back tears angrily. Now was not the time for her tears. She’d done so much crying after Joe’s betrayal and it had always been Alec who was quiet and supportive for her; it was time she returned the favor.

She ran her fingers through his sleep-tousled hair, nodding. “I know.” She was able through some miracle to keep her voice even. She hoped she wasn’t lying but even imagining herself in his shoes was frightening enough. She wasn’t sure how people like Alec didn’t go mad being trapped in their own bodies knowing they only had so much time left. She held him closer, breathing deeply. He was trembling. “Let go, Alec,” she found herself whispering. “Let it out.”

He did. The breakdown she had seen building behind his indifferent mask finally burst its dam; but the more he broke own (her shirt growing steadily damper) the calmer and stronger Ellie felt herself. It was the most surreal feeling in the world but she didn’t question it. In the face of his tears she knew she would be his rock.

What she’d felt for Joe had been vastly different, she realized then; but she loved Alec just as dearly.


	12. Chapter 12

Alec slept until the late morning, straight through Tom’s leaving for school, Fred’s crying for his meal, and even before then Ellie’s sliding out of the bed. They had drifted off together, and Ellie had been surprised to find that she had slept so well; it had been awhile since she couldn’t remember her dreams. Alec hadn’t moved from where he had fallen asleep, curled up slightly with one arm folded up so that his hand rested beneath his chin—probably a habit when he had covers to clutch, she supposed—but she had turned so that she was lying on her back. She had slipped out from beneath the sheets as quietly and softly as possible hoping she would not wake him.

When finally he woke she was preparing a light lunch for herself in the kitchen, and she was surprised when she turned from the stove to find him standing in the doorway rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

She managed a genuine smile as she looked at him. “Morning—or afternoon, actually, you’ve slept half the day away by now.”

He took a seat at the table, taking a deep steadying breath as he did so. “Wasn’t planning anything today, anyway.”

“Of course you weren’t.” Ellie stepped up to the stove again. “Would you like something?”

He shook his head. He hadn’t been eating hardly at all the past few days and it was clear that he was losing weight again; she fought the urge to make him sit and eat something because she knew that it would only make him angry. His temper had not lessened with his condition. “Water would be nice.”

She sat across from him and picked up her fork. He took a drink. “What was your favorite drink, then?” she asked quite suddenly, startling herself. “Before your heart condition?”

“Coffee.” He answered instantly with the smallest grin. “It was the hardest thing to let go of, I think.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you down for a coffee lover.”

He shrugged. “I don’t think I had a choice in the matter,” he replied with a wry smile, and explained when he realized she wouldn’t understand. “I was drinking my gran’s coffee at six months old.”

She stared at him. “Six months old?”

The small grin widened into a smile. He nodded. “I think it was an addiction,” he admitted quietly. “It became a kind of joke between us. I would drink Gran’s first cup of the morning and she’d call me ‘little shit’.”

“Well, at least someone realized you were one,” Ellie teased him.

He ran his fingers down the side of the glass. “Looking back I should’ve realized,” he said quietly. “Growing up, caffeine caused my heart to jump—usually after I’d had a cuppa. I didn’t stop drinking coffee until I was thirty, and that was only because the doctor proved that it was unhealthy for me to drink it. Still doesn’t stop me from sneaking it sometimes, though.”

She stood and put her plate in the sink, trying to hide her smile. “Honestly, you’re worse than Fred,” she told him, but it was without bite. The normality of the moment was surreal, almost frightening. What had happened to the Alec Hardy and Ellie Miller of Danny Latimer’s case—or even just a few days ago? Which reminded her… She turned back to him. “You weren’t right to bring Beth into our fight like that. You weren’t right to bring Beth into it at all.”

He had the grace to look decently ashamed; but looking back she knew that he had felt properly upset with himself even then. “I’m sorry.” That was all he said; no explanations, no excuses, and for that Ellie was grateful. She hated excuses.

She frowned, suddenly struck by a realization. “Are we friends now?”

He looked up from his drink. “What?”

“We’re talking and hanging out- and you’re apologizing- and we’re telling each other about ourselves…” She wrinkled her nose. “Does that make us friends?”

He shrugged. “Suppose so. I dunno, it seems like a backwards friendship if it is.” He seemed equally as stumped by their relationship as she was. “Thanks, though. For being here.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t go all weird on me, Hardy, you never say things like that.”

The quiet knock on the front door startled both of them, effectively stopping Alec from making a reply. Almost relieved to be getting out of this moment Ellie practically ran to the door and swung it open. “Beth.”

The Latimer matriarch stood on the front step, Mark standing a couple of feet behind her. “Ellie. Can we come in for a minute?”

She stepped back. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead and have a seat in the living room.”

Mark headed in that direction but Beth turned to face her. “Actually, Ellie, I’m here to speak with Hardy. Do you think he’d mind?”

Ellie was almost tempted to blurt out that she thought he would mind but was able to keep from saying so. “You can ask him. He’s probably still in the kitchen.”

After Beth walked past, she turned to Mark. He correctly guessed the question on her face. “She ran into Paul,” he explained quietly. “She asked him about how- how she should handle everything with you. She’s trying,” he hastened to assure her, “she really is trying. But for some reason when she talked to Paul about it he said she should talk to Hardy.”

Ah. Ellie supposed she could see why Paul would say that. Once upon a time Alec had felt betrayed by his best friend; the vicar was clearly hoping that the retired copper would be able to find some common ground with Danny’s mother. It was clear that, despite Ellie’s thoughts otherwise, Alec agreed to talk with Beth because both of them went into one of the smaller rooms and closed the door. 

Ellie and Mark waited in the living room for nearly an hour. When the door finally opened again Beth came out first, Alec following her a moment later. The expressions on their faces were startling similar; not upset, but not exactly unhappy either. It seemed most like they had reached a level of acceptance with whatever they had discussed, and although both Mark and Ellie wanted to know what had been said both realized they would never get a full answer. It seemed, however, that their discussion had helped Beth because the very first thing she did was walk up to Ellie and pull her close.

“You’re remarkable, you know that?” she whispered in the startled woman’s ear. “Both of you.” Her voice was choked but there were no signs of tears when Beth pulled away, only a smile.

“Won’t you stay—you know, I have plenty in the refrigerator—“

But Beth shook her head, interrupting Ellie’s question. “No,” she apologized. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got an ultrasound in half an hour, we’ve got to go… but I’ll give you a ring afterwards, yeah?”

“O-of course.” Ellie nodded, managing a smile of her own even through her confusion. “I’d like that.”

To her astonishment Beth turned and drew Alec into an embrace as well, clearly whispering something to him that no one else could catch. He stiffened, unsure, but finally relaxed a little and nodded a reply. Ellie walked the Latimers outside, breathing in the autumn-laden smell of the air.

Mark headed to the car after a smile to Ellie but Beth remained on the step an extra second, looking back at the closed front door. “You know,” she said quietly, “there’s a song I’ve loved for a long time that I think you'd appreciate. You should look it up.” Then she was gone, carefully navigating her way down the driveway and into the car. Ellie watched them drive off, then walked back into the house.

Alec was in the living room, looking out of the window at the coloring trees, with his phone out; clearly he was calling someone. The volume was up—she heard it ring three, four times, then go into voice mail. He took a deep breath.

“Sweetheart, I really need to talk to you. Please. This isn’t something I’m just calling you about. Give me a ring as soon as you can. I love you.”

He turned, unsurprised to find Ellie there. “My daughter. She needs to know.”

Ellie’s heart clenched. Why had she never considered the possibility that he would have children? How do you even tell your child you’re dying? “You could invite her to stay here,” she found herself offering. “We still have room.”

He looked at her thoughtfully for a long moment. Certainly he seemed somehow calmer; last night’s break down and his talk with Beth had clearly helped him in some way. 

“You know, Miller, I think you put everyone else to shame in this entire town.”

0000000

It was funny that he’d said that, Ellie thought later that night. She’d received a call from Beth telling her that everything was going well with the baby and that it was estimated she would probably go into labor within a week. Included in that call she’d remembered to tell Ellie the name of that song she had mentioned and curious (she and Beth had always held a similar taste in music) she found a link of it on her phone and listened to it while curled up in bed.

The lyrics nearly made her cry again and she was so very tempted to make Alec sit down and listen to it just to see him blush and shift in that uncomfortable way of his. She realized now why Beth had thought the song so appropriate. She knew, however, that she would equally love and hate the song for the rest of her life as she lay there repeating it over and over again, all the while thinking of that hard-arse new-found friend of hers down the hallway.

_‘I’m a shot through the dark/I’m a black sinkhole/If it weren’t for second chances/We’d all be alone.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced in this chapter is 'Second Chances' by Gregory Alan Isakov, and I love love _love_ this song. It's a very Alec Hardy song, in my opinion, and is in fact the one I listened to the most while writing this story.


	13. Chapter 13

The phone was ringing. Startled out of his sleep Alec blindly fumbled for the sound of its insistent buzzing, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. It was late, maybe early morning, and he hadn’t gotten near enough sleep yet. But instantly he felt wide awake—there was only one person who would possibly be calling him at this ungodly hour; he didn’t even glance at the caller i.d. before he answered.

“Yeah?”

For a long moment there was no answer, and he wondered if maybe this was just a dream. Just as he was prepared to hang up and go back to sleep, he heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Dad.”

His chest tightened. “Daisy, sweetheart.” He tried but he couldn’t quite keep the crack from his voice as he called her by name. Panic was suddenly threatening to claw its way up his throat. What had he been thinking, calling his daughter like this?

Daisy may not have spoken with him for a month or so but she was still smart. She caught his mood immediately, even over the phone. “Dad?” she said again. “What is it? You didn’t sound quite right in your message.”

How do you explain to your child you’re dying?

For a long moment his voice was frozen, all traces of sleepiness well and truly gone now; his heartbeat was thumping painfully but he still felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Would you be willing to come to Broadchurch for a few days?” They were the first words he was able to force through his fear and he was taken aback by them.

“I have school, Dad.” Her voice was dripping with a teenager sneer, clearly wondering why her parents could be so slow sometimes.

“Please, Daisy.” He was begging her now but he was beyond the point of caring. Again he floundered; abruptly he wished that Ellie was there with him to give him some support, even if it was only her standing and listening. Her hand to hold would be good too. “It wouldn’t be more than a week at most—“ He almost choked on the words he was forced to say.

“Tell me what’s going on or I won’t come.” There it was, the ultimatum. He should have remembered it would come sooner or later. 

What could he possibly tell her over the phone? He swallowed on a dry throat. “Remember when I had that- that accident a couple years ago?” It had been a weekend morning and he had stood up too quickly; all he remembered about it was his vision clouding over and the sensation of falling. Then a harsh pain on the back of his head had abruptly brought him back to his senses—he had passed out and hit the very edge of the bathroom doorframe. Daisy had been in the kitchen eating breakfast and had practically fallen over herself to reach him, terrified by his fall. Tess had not been there, luckily, off on a job with the Department and Alec had sworn his daughter to secrecy, terrified of being found out and losing his position with the police. At that point he had already begun to suspect something was wrong and had been secretly going to a doctor for testing, keeping his suspicions very carefully to himself until it was confirmed. He had hoped to get something done about his arrhythmia when it first started but then Sandbrook had happened and he had found out about Tess’s affair and he had never gotten anything done.

Daisy clearly remembered that day because her voice shifted. “Are you okay?”

He swallowed again, trying to fight the lump forming in his throat. “No.” The confession cost him; there could be no hiding the tremor in his voice, and he knew that Daisy would hear it.

There was a long silence on her end of the phone and if he could label it, it would have been ‘horrified’. To her credit there was no admonitions of being ‘soppy’. “I’ll be there this evening. It is morning, right?” There was the sound of sheets; she was shifting in her bed to catch a glimpse of her clock. “Yeah, it’s one-thirty. I’ll be on the train as soon as I pack.” He could already hear her moving. “I’ll call you when I’m on the train, yeah?”

He nodded, then realized that she couldn’t see him. “Yes.”

He waited until she hung up; dropping his phone he hid his face in the pillows and desperately wished this was all just an awful dream.

0000000

He had drowsed for a couple hours following his call with Daisy but their conversation had effectively killed any hopes for actual sleep; at three forty-three he dragged himself out from underneath the blankets and made his way to the bathroom to get a shower. Ellie was still asleep, as were Tom and Fred when he looked in on them. 

He made the water as hot as he could stand it; his heart was jumping again, more and more painfully as the days went on, and he waited until the mirror was fogged up before he stepped into the shower to give it time to even out. It was becoming harder to ignore, though, the feeling of vertigo that was with him all the time now and he had never felt this sort of exhaustion before. Even during Danny’s case his arrhythmia hadn’t been this bad. The water felt wonderful against his skin and he found himself nearly beneath its flow before he completely realized he was. 

He always felt cold now, no matter how many blankets he had piled up. It was to be expected, the doctors had told him before he left the hospital. They had gone on to explain in horribly stale technical terms that had frankly scared him of what would happen and why it was important he came back to the hospital when things deteriorated too far—to which he had said in no uncertain terms that they could stick their advice up their arses. He wasn’t going to die in the hospital.

Stepping back he let the water fill his cupped hands, contemplating the falling water drops. How quickly would it take someone to drown? He knew that it only took a little bit of water down the right area to start it…

Abruptly he came back to himself and let his hands fall, letting out a shuddering gasp. He was trembling suddenly, colder than he had been even a moment before.   
What the hell was happening to him?

He turned the water off and stepped out on shaky legs, terrified. Trapped. That was how he felt. Helpless, but this was unlike anything he had ever felt before because this was him going through it.

His skin was still damp, the air humid from the heat of the shower, but he slid his clothes on and went out into the hallway, barely remembering to shut the light off as he did so.

He didn’t think about where he was going, knowing that if he thought about it he would lose his nerve; but luckily Ellie’s door was only a few feet beyond the bathroom. 

She wasn’t asleep. Maybe the sounds of the water running had disturbed her or maybe another nightmare had woken her—he knew after all that she suffered from them nearly every night. He selfishly hoped it was the former. She knew he was there but didn’t speak, didn’t even shift in her sheets letting him decide what he was going to do.

He walked forward. She rolled over to give him room and he slid in beside her without a word, curling up a little and careful to keep a few inches between them. She turned to look at him, throwing the coverlet over them both. 

“What is it?”

Was he that easy to read? He almost barked a laugh when he realized that to her he must be. She was the closest thing he had to comfort, to a close friend (he had reconciled with John but he didn’t know if he could ever forgive him) and he had only made it obvious by coming to her now. He would hate himself in the morning for this but at the moment he didn’t care.

“You remember how I asked you if the cliffs were a suicide spot?”

He didn’t know any other way of how to say what he had been contemplating but she understood immediately—their first meeting by Danny’s body on the beach was one she was likely never going to able to forget. Her eyes widened and he clearly saw the concern that bloomed in her expression, but to her credit she didn’t smother him. Underneath the blanket her hand found his and her thumb started to stroke the skin of his palm.

“You didn’t do it, though,” she told him softly. 

He shook his head, swallowing hard. “I don’t know what’s happening,” he admitted. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Since when has life ever made sense?” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. Her voice sharpened just enough to let him know she was utterly serious: “And if either of my sons had discovered your body in the morning there wouldn’t be enough left of you to bury.”

It was a warning and he wouldn’t doubt it, but he couldn’t help but grin a little. Leave it to Ellie to keep him from wallowing in self-pity too much. “My daughter’s coming here later today.”

She blinked, taken aback by the information. “Thank you for the short notice,” she said dryly.

“You were the one who invited her, not me.” He had finally stopped trembling and although he was still feeling shaken he was at least a little bit calmer. Arguing with her was helping distract him—at least for a moment. “Oh god, what if I had done it, she would have seen—“

Ellie reached and slapped him on the shoulder. “None of that,” she said sharply. “Don’t you dare start thinking that way. And if you do, imagine what your daughter would go through—it’ll deter you, trust me.”

He wasn’t going to ask why she sounded so sure but he could guess. “She’ll go through it anyway.”

“But at least without the added knowledge of her dad choosing to kill himself.” Again her voice softened. “You were right to call her, Alec. She deserves to know.”

He didn’t think so. He didn’t want his daughter to be there watching him die. He didn’t think he would be able to keep up his guard if she was around, it was already hard enough just with John and Ellie and her boys.

Daisy was stubborn, though. She would be there every step of the way and only cry about what was happening after it was over.

0000000

He didn’t leave the house when Daisy texted him to let him know she was at the train station near Broadchurch; his strength had rapidly fled over the past few days and it was rare he ventured outside—the trip to and from the car would be nearly impossible. Ellie gamely changed into clothes fit for company and bundled him up and set him on the front step of the house with a cup of tea.

“It’s only about thirty minutes there and back, it’ll be fine,” she assured him. “If you wanted I could always call Beth…”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he practically growled, in no mood to joke around. “Besides, she’s too far along to worry about watching someone. John said he’d be stopping over sooner or later, anyway, so just bloody go already.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s been awhile since you’ve cursed aloud. I was wondering if something was wrong.”

“Funny.”

He waited close to forty-five minutes for them to come; in the space of that time he had moved from the front step into the kitchen and gone through two cups of tea and was just putting on more water to boil when the sound of Ellie’s car came up the driveway. He froze for a moment and then the sound of the car doors closing spurred him to the kitchen doorway.

Ellie entered first. “Just leave your bags here, then,” she was saying with the old note of cheerfulness in her voice and he wondered if that was an act to put Daisy off. 

“Thank you, Ellie.” Daisy’s voice had changed a little, her tone a bit deeper, but her brogue was as strong as ever. She came into view and immediately caught sight of him; it was only there for a moment but he saw horror flit over her face and he wondered just how awful he looked.

He managed a weak smile. “Hello, darlin’.”

His voice spurred her from her spot on the floor. Without a word she flew from the door and into his arms and he was barely able to keep from falling over from the strength of her embrace. He looked over her shoulder at Ellie, asking her silently.

She quietly shook her head. Although she must have been told that he wasn’t doing well, Daisy still didn’t know the full extent of what was happening. He didn’t know if he was relieved or not about that. He kissed the top of her head and drew her closer.

“You called off school before you came, yeah?”

She nodded. “I’m not a kid, Dad,” she said, her voice slightly muffled from his clothes. “Mum said she’d tell them there was a family emergency.”

He felt suddenly panicked and he drew back. “Is your mum coming?”

Daisy shook her head, upset. “No. I tried to tell her she should, I really did, but she said you’re not part of her life anymore.”

That stung more than it should have. He swallowed. “Well, I’m glad you were able to come,” he said with difficulty, stroking her hair. “Sweetheart, I’m going to ask you to just listen to me. You and I are going to talk.”

She frowned, taken aback by his abrupt change of topic but he suddenly felt like he needed to start with telling her his condition—it was the reason he had asked her here, after all. He motioned for her to follow him to the same room that not even a day ago he had talked with Beth in, glancing one more time at Ellie. She was watching them both with sad eyes but she merely nodded again, urging him on.

Taking a deep breath, to calm himself as much as it was to try to steady his racing heartbeat, he closed the door softly behind him and sat Daisy down. 

He could only hope she would be strong enough to face what he was going to tell her.


	14. Chapter 14

Alec sat Daisy down on one of the chairs (the same one that Beth had chosen, he noticed idly), trying to ignore his shaking hands as he did so. She was looking up at him curiously, clearly concerned but willing—for the moment—to allow him to explain. He opened his mouth but couldn’t say anything, still too caught up in the whirlwind of emotion her presence was causing. He shook himself angrily; he was still a copper, damn it, he could school himself better than this! 

It was the most difficult thing he had ever done but he managed in the end to lock away most of his mind-numbing terror, convincing himself that this was no different than telling a murdered victim’s family of their loss.

“Daisy, that accident a few years ago wasn’t a one-off thing,” he said quietly, slowly sitting in the chair facing her.

“What do you mean?”

A child’s innocence. “I have a heart problem,” he said quietly, leaning forward slightly. “Arrhythmia. It means my heart isn’t beating correctly and so it doesn’t pump blood like it should.” She had been opening her mouth to ask what he meant but he knew that if he stopped now he would never find the nerve to continue. “I had an episode about a week ago now—“

“Like the one before, at home?” Daisy asked.

“Worse.” He shook his head, wishing he could tell her differently. “Much worse, I… I was in the hospital for a few days.”

“But you’re getting better, right?” she demanded; she was picking up on his mood and fear, as much as he was trying to hide it. She was suddenly stiff in her seat, white-knuckled hands clutching the armrests. “You’re out of the hospital, that means you’re getting better.”

It broke his heart in a completely different sense now to silently shake his head. “No.” His voice was choked. “It doesn’t.”

She wilted. That was the only way he could describe it; white-faced she stared at him like she had never seen him before, all of her rigidness dissolving into nothing.   
“What—“ Her small voice was like a knife, making him flinch. “What--… does that even mean? You can’t—you’re not—“ Her voice tapered off suddenly but she was still horribly frozen. 

He drew a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry.” He found he couldn’t quite look her in the eye, his shame too great, and suddenly he found himself unable to stop from continuing, too close to breaking down for comfort: “I’m sorry, I can’t fix this—I shouldn’t have asked you to be here—“

Her hands grasped his, intertwining their fingers. He met her gaze, taken aback, but she didn’t waver. “Don’t. I’m staying.”

In an utterly soppy moment he lifted their hands and kissed her fingers, relieved beyond words. For the next several moments neither of them moved nor spoke; silence was their refuge now.

0000000

John stopped over shortly after nightfall, apologizing for his tardiness; he had finally found a job (however temporary) as a janitor at the Broadchurch police station—a fact that caused Alec and Ellie to look at each other in surprised resignation at the ironies of life before congratulating him.

“It’s just until I get my feet under me,” was his reply, shrugging off their comments. He still couldn’t help his small grin, however, and Ellie realized that a very heavy worry had been lifted off his back. “I’m hoping to find a job working on cars again.” 

He had been delighted about meeting Daisy when Alec introduced them, but Daisy’s lack of bewilderment of being told about her father’s friend told Ellie that Alec must have been more forthcoming about his past with her than he had been with Ellie herself. Knowing him, he had told her John’s story as a warning about what people were capable of. If Daisy had any prior knowledge of John’s past, however, she hid it well: her smile was perfectly even and she even reached out her hand first for a handshake.

It was clear that John was smitten.

Ellie could understand why; she was just as taken by Alec’s daughter. For being so young it was clear that Daisy was already an old soul, quiet and observant. She listened more than she talked, but she was very bright and had a fantastic wit. She was sassier than anything, a spark that Ellie had seen so very rarely with her father in her eyes and voice that showed she was already very sure of herself.

Her presence had a clear impact on Alec as well; over the past week or so Ellie had seen glimpses of what he must have been like long before she met him, and hearing so many stories of what he and John had gotten into together (stories that could keep her entertained as she and Alec and John stayed up until the late hours of the night) had helped build on that image. With Daisy there, however, he seemed much more at ease and he smiled more than she had seen him do before. His own sense of sass certainly became quite more prevalent; father and daughter would snipe back and forth for several minutes straight going in circles in a mock-argument.

“I am not obsessive!” he protested over breakfast one morning. Ellie had dropped Tom off at school and was just coming in the door and was able to hear him, and Daisy’s answering snort.

“Please, Dad. When haven’t you been obsessive about something?”

“Having a collection of something doesn’t mean you’re obsessed!”

“It does when you have over two hundred of them,” came Daisy’s wry reply, and Ellie choked on a laugh as she put her coat up; she barely managed to school her expression before she stepped into view, and was prepared to enter the gentle ribbing—and stopped in her tracks.

“Bloody hell!”

Alec had shaved. Really properly shaved, finally doing away with the thickening beard that he hadn’t bothered about for weeks. It was the first time since she had met him that Ellie saw him clean-shaven and the effect was startling. 

“That bad?” he asked sarcastically, leaning back in his chair.

She shook herself, reminding herself it was rude to stare. “No. No, you look—different.”

Daisy snorted again, crossing her arms as she looked over at her father. “It could’ve been worse.”

The whistling of the tea kettle drew Ellie away from the doorway and she busied herself by making a cup of tea. “So what brought that on?” she asked, motioning to his appearance.

“Daisy wanted me to.” He shrugged and finished the last of his drink, deliberately ignoring the glare Ellie sent his way.

“I didn’t think you responded to requests.”

“I do if it’s my daughter’s.”

Daisy rolled her eyes, moving to the other side of the table to sit. “You’re being soppy again, Dad.”

“I barely said anything!”

“Yeah, but you manage to sound soppy even with a few words.” She ignored Alec’s protests and looked at Ellie. “Dad thinks he’s tough but he’s not,” she said matter-of-factly. “There was one time when I found an abandoned kitten on the street and when I went to Mom to see if I could keep it she said she didn’t want me to. So I went to Dad.”

Ellie smiled. “And he let you keep it.”

Alec blushed as Daisy laughed and continued. “He carried it into the house and helped me wash and feed it and then even let it sleep on him when he took a nap on the couch.”

Ellie almost ‘aww’d out loud but decided at the last minute that there was only so much Alec’s dignity could take, but it was clear that Daisy still felt a high sense of fondness for that memory. It was rather adorable.

Alec shook his head. “Clearly I’m out-numbered here,” he muttered sarcastically, climbing to his feet—and immediately he had to sit back down, suddenly paling.  
Daisy left her seat and bent down in front of him. “Dad?”

He nodded, one hand rubbing at his chest. “Dizzy.”

Daisy looked up at Ellie worriedly, but Ellie could only gaze back gravely. A new thought had just occurred to her but she was careful not to say anything about it around Alec. It was hard, nonetheless, to see Alec struggling so much but being the stubborn arse that he was he didn’t allow their help if he didn’t ask them for it first. He gave himself a moment to recover and then tried to stand again, this time managing it without too much trouble.

Ellie took the seat he’d vacated, feeling serious again very suddenly.

Daisy swallowed, her fear very evident in her expression. “I don’t like seeing him like this.”

Ellie shook her head in agreement. “Daisy, I wanted to ask you something.”

“What?”

She hesitated, almost afraid to discover the answer. “Some heart problems are hereditary, you know, like heart disease. I’ve looked up a little about arrhythmia and some types of it can be passed down from parent to child.”

Daisy’s eyes widened in horror when she realized where Ellie was going. “You don’t think—?”

“I don’t know,” Ellie corrected her. “But if you ever or have ever felt light-headed for no reason or have felt your heart jump too many times to be normal you should go see a doctor about it.” She sighed, seeing that her words were only scaring the poor girl more. She reached out and grasped her fingers. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but this isn’t something you can ignore. Your dad wouldn’t want you to ignore it.”

Daisy nodded. “I’ll set up an appointment.”

0000000

Two nights later, they had their first real scare. Ellie was woken by the sounds of harsh, ragged coughing coming from his room, unlike anything she had ever heard before, and she threw her blanket back to get to her feet—and abruptly heard Daisy cry out in alarm. Ellie practically flew to the guest room.

Alec was convulsing on the bed, the sheets thrown into disarray from his movements, his face contorted into a grimace, struggling to breathe. Daisy was beside him, shaking and white with fear, turning to Ellie with desperate terrified eyes.

“Help him!”

She needed no further encouragement. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, he was coughing and I went to wake him and he just started to—“ Daisy’s voice broke before she could finish but Ellie understood.

“Alec, look at me—look at me, that’s it.” She was fighting to keep her own voice even but even through his evident struggle he was still able to hear her. She felt a little better at that—it wasn’t entirely like Briar Cliff all those months ago. “What do you need?”

“Pills,” he gasped out; his fingers were grasping at the sheets uncontrollably. “Coat pocket.”

Of course. The bloody idiot refused to allow any of them to help him except when he wanted, and it had to stop. She found what he was talking about and passed them over, surprised when he swallowed them dry; he was recovering slightly, sweat starting to break over his skin as he struggled to relax enough to breathe, but he still looked shaken enough not to allow Ellie or Daisy to calm their own racing hearts.

He coughed again, long and hard like it was his lungs he was trying to bring up. Ellie went and filled him a cup of tap water to drink, but he shook his head when she offered it.

“What happened?” Ellie asked when finally the fit passed.

He didn’t immediately answer her, looking at his daughter first. “Don’t wake me up suddenly, darlin’.”

She reddened when she realized what he was meaning. Ellie hoped Daisy wasn’t going to blame herself for causing Alec’s episode—she didn’t know, after all. “You should’ve warned us about this,” she snapped, angry despite herself. 

“It didn’t matter—“ he retorted just as sharply, sitting up slowly.

“It matters now!” Ellie exclaimed; dimly she saw Daisy retreat towards the door, clearly guessing the argument that would ensue. Alec didn’t call her back so he probably realized it too. “This isn’t something you can brush off anymore, you have to tell us these things! You just scared your daughter for no reason!”

“Don’t you dare bring Daisy into this!”

“You brought her into this!” Ellie would not be gainsaid. “You chose to allow her to be here, now act like you wanted to! Let us help you, Alec! You can’t do this by yourself anymore.”

“I can try,” he growled.

“Don’t be a child,” Ellie snapped, unimpressed. She had seen far too many temper tantrums from both of her sons to be intimidated by Alec Hardy’s. “We’re not doing this because you asked—we’re doing this because we all care. It’s about time you learned the difference.”

He fell silent, unable to refute her words. He knew she was right, and to his credit he didn’t continue to fight her. He began to cough again.

She sighed, knowing she had berated him enough. “Will you be able to go back to sleep?” 

He shook his head, his hand rubbing at his chest again. “Probably not,” he admitted hoarsely.

Ellie hesitated a moment but then shoved her misgivings aside. “Scoot over.”

He looked at her like she was crazy. “What?”

“Look, you’re coughing too harshly for it to be normal, right? Clearly you can’t lie flat on your back anymore, so we’ll just have to pile up some pillows for you tomorrow night.” She sat down on his bed and pulled her legs up. “Come on. We can talk for a while. Lord knows neither of us will be getting anymore sleep tonight.”

He was still looking at her warily but finally after a moment he did as she asked by easing up against her, propped up just enough that his coughing lessened. For a long still moment neither of them spoke, simply allowing the silence to settle them.

She started to stroke his hair, a mother’s instinct she couldn’t quite ignore, and she felt him relax a little, more than content to simply lay in silence.

Of course Ellie wouldn’t allow that. She became too bored with silence if she wasn’t sleeping. “I think you’re greying,” she teased him suddenly.

He managed to shift enough to look up at her. “Looked in the mirror lately, Miller? You’re not much younger than I am, you know.”

She frowned. “How old are you?” She had looked at his info, of course, while still with the Broadchurch police but she had never really registered his age.

“Forty-two.”

Only two years older than she was. “You’re too young to be falling apart like this,” she sighed.

“You don’t have to be telling me that.” He shifted back to his original position, simply breathing for a long moment. Ellie watched him quietly.

She had finally realized what she felt for him. Not romantic love, no, never that. Her love of a wife belonged only to Joe, and she had a feeling that no matter the betrayal or the years it always would. What she felt for Alec was just as strong but in a much tamer sense. She was simply a friend. A true no-strings-attached friend.

“I’ve thought…” he began suddenly, pausing in search of words. He very carefully kept from moving. “I don’t want to be buried. To keep you from pulling that Poe thing…”

Damn Alec and his black humor. “Bully for me, then,” she retorted sarcastically. “I was already planning which night I was going to sleep on your grave.” She stroked his hair back again, thinking. It didn’t surprise her, she found, that he wouldn’t want a burial. “What do you want done with the ashes, then?”

He snorted. “Flush them down the toilet for all I care.”

“Thought you hated the water?”

He shifted again. “I won’t know then, will I?” 

She rolled her eyes. “True.” In a flash of mischievousness she grinned. “Are you sure we can’t hold a memorial service? I’m sure Paul—“

His eyes widened with horror. “No!”

She snickered. “Come on, a few words by the vicar’s got to give you some points, right?”

That garnered an amused grin. “Yeah, but what you don’t know is that a lot of Christians lie straight through their teeth to make someone look good. Especially at funerals.”


	15. Chapter 15

Two more days went by. A long call to the doctor explained and finalized why Alec was coughing so much: like both of them had suspected his lungs were filling with fluid, leaving him unable to breathe correctly and unable to lay flat anymore. With that came another minor scare—after a particularly harsh coughing fit he had drawn his hand away from his mouth to find it streaked with pink froth. Even with his best attempt to hide it Ellie could see the clear terror he felt seeing that, and he tried his hardest to keep it from the children. Fred, thankfully, was still too young to notice such things but Ellie suspected that both Daisy and Tom knew.

She and Alec had their second or third fight when he had a second episode while napping on the couch.

“Absolutely not,” he growled, looking at her through pain-glazed eyes. His breathing was too ragged for Ellie’s comfort but she didn’t allow her resolve to waver.

“It wouldn’t be for all the time,” she argued, her arms crossed. “Just while you sleep.”

“I don’t need it,” he snapped. “I’m not a bloody invalid who needs oxygen wherever they go.”

Ellie’s expression cooled. “That was uncalled for.” She shifted from foot to foot, not about to back down. “If you have another episode like just now it should help you through it.” When he didn’t respond, she resorted to some of her exasperation with him. “You’re being deliberately pig-headed about this, refusing the things that will help you.”

He still didn’t respond; well and truly concerned now she dropped her arms. “Are you afraid of what we’ll think?” she demanded, the thought only then occurring to her. “That we’ll somehow look down on you?”

He bit his lip, and that was answer enough. Ellie felt sympathetic understanding flood through her and she sat beside him. “You know that we never would.”

He was silent for another long moment, afraid to catch her eye. “It’s hard,” he admitted in a small voice. “I’m not strong enough for this, Ellie.”

He was one of the strongest people she’d ever met, and she hated the fact that he was so utterly blind to that fact. But she didn’t say that aloud, knowing he wouldn’t believe her. “That’s why you have us here, Alec.” She wasn’t so bothered by calling him by name anymore, just as he wasn’t by calling her Ellie. “Please, we’ve talked about this before.”

He gave in finally, allowing Ellie to get the oxygen he needed—but even then it was clear that nothing was enough. He reached a point where he refused even the lightest, smallest meals Ellie could think of so she resorted to making him smoothies in the mixer but most of the time they were only half-finished; his weight, already light, started to significantly fall. Most nights he would be seated in the living room with a book until the rest of them woke up the following day. Then there was the first morning when he didn’t leave the bed, too light-headed and in pain to move. Daisy stayed with him.

Ellie was so thankful for Alec’s daughter; if Ellie needed to go to work Daisy volunteered to watch the boys. When Alec needed his medicines it was Daisy who measured them out and made sure he took them. It was Daisy, too, who helped him to the restroom and bath, refusing to allow Ellie to help her. But Daisy’s importance wasn’t just for her father; to Ellie’s delight Tom started coming out of his shell. Being nearly a teenager she knew he was more interested in girls but to her credit Daisy merely treated him as a friend, at one point offering to go outside to play football with him. Tom, it was clear, was impressed and he admitted to Ellie one evening that playing with Daisy had been the first time since Danny had died that he had been out with a football.

Beth called late one afternoon, asking how everything was. Until that time Ellie had been merely focused on how everyone else was doing but with Beth’s inquiry she almost broke down. She was not alone, however, and so she didn’t but it was a near thing and Beth sensed it. She offered to come over again but Ellie steadfastly told her she needed to worry about her fast-approaching baby first, even though she desperately wanted her friend there with her.

Beth didn’t fight her but she did say to tell Alec she sent her regards. Again Ellie wondered what it was the two of them had discussed but she resisted the temptation to ask.

Chloe, however, did stop over, undoubtedly curious about Ellie’s latest guest—probably alerted by Beth who knew her daughter and Daisy were around the same age. To Ellie’s delight the girls got on immediately; although Daisy was clearly exhausted and run ragged by stress and lack of sleep she accepted Chloe’s invitation of walking down to the beach together.

Daisy loved the smell of the salty air, tinged as it was by the sea, although she disliked how cold the air was. Definitely approaching winter; she had grabbed one of Ellie’s coats, a bright orange parka that was enormous on her.

“Your dad walked this way a lot,” Chloe suddenly said, looking back at her.

“Did he?” Part of her twisted painfully at the mention of her father but the other part was pleased that she was walking the same ground he had. “You ever stop and talk to him?”

“Sometimes. Most of the tie we would just nod and continue on our own way but it kind of became a game after a while, I guess, to see if we’d mange to cross paths. Then there were times where when we could stop and talk for ten minutes. He mentioned you a few times, actually.”

Daisy blushed. “I hate it when he does that,” she admitted with a small laugh. “It’s like your parents have always got to say how proud they are of you to the whole world—and you don’t ever know what they’re going to say.”

Chloe laughed. “I know, right? My dad loved to brag on me and my brother Danny all the time. ‘Dan just won this medal’ or ‘Chloe got full marks on her science exam’. It used to drive us crazy but that’s Dad for you.” She sobered, however, thinking. “He hasn’t done that in a while, though. I think it hurts him too much—there was one time a month age he started to brag on Danny and he turned all funny afterwards.”

“Does it—get any easier?”

Chloe stopped. “Kind of,” she said slowly. “The first couple months were awful, everything any of us did reminded us of Danny. The jelly in the fridge, you’d look at it and think, ‘He’ll never put that on his toast again’. His linens would be in the closet and your first thought was, ‘We don’t have a use for those now.’” She kicked at the dirt for a moment, then met Daisy’s gaze. “But I can have good days now. I can think of something he did or said and laugh instead of cry. And you’ll always find ways of- of making a tribute, I guess. My password for my computer has Danny mentioned in it and every time I type it in I smile because I’m remembering him, not just reminded by something.”

They had reached the edge of the ocean. “Tell you something, Daisy. Don’t sit surrounded by grief all the time, okay? And don’t let people tell you you have to. After Danny died my boyfriend Dean made me a fun room where I could just take a break and forget about how much I missed Danny. It’s helped a lot.”

Danny managed a weak smile. “I’ll remember that.”

Chloe started to type at her phone. “Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll give you my number so you can call or text me. We can hang out. I know you probably won’t be here for much longer but we can still talk.”

Daisy’s smile widened. “Thanks. I want to stay here, actually. I like it better than I do Glasgow but I don’t know how well my mum will like that idea. Maybe Ellie or John will help me figure something out.”

0000000

Ellie watched Chloe and Daisy walk away, grinning at the orange jacket Alec’s daughter had chosen to wear. Well, at least it would keep her warm.

Alec, when she went in to check on him, was not at all impressed. “Please tell me Daisy didn’t decide to wear that bloody monstrosity,” he groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry,” Ellie apologized sweetly. “I’ve corrupted her.”

“She’s going to find herself disowned that way.” He coughed then, long and hard; it didn’t take much to set him off anymore, even if it was only a deep breath. When finally it was done he fell back wearily against the pillows sitting him up. “I’ve gotten a ‘Do Not Resuscitate’ order,” he said hoarsely. “For when it happens.”

She stared, taken aback. “When did you do that?” She couldn’t remember him calling anyone or even so much as mentioning it before.

“While I was still in the hospital.” He was cut off again with another bout of coughing; Ellie grabbed a few tissues that were sitting on the side table and handed them over, hoping to spare him some mess. When finally this coughing passed and he drew his hand away she sucked in a sharp breath.

“It’s more blood than anything.”

He bunched the tissues up—he was becoming much better at hiding how shaken he was by seeing it, but he was just a little too pale. “It’s normal now.”

0000000

There was little change the next two days; he didn’t fit and his coughing didn’t worsen. Daisy spent more time with Chloe, either walking to the beach or climbing the cliffs; Alec’s daughter finally met Beth and Mark, and Dean (who had been out of town the past couple months helping restore a relative’s house), and explored the town.

Chloe showed her the main street and the businesses, going a little bit more into detail about Danny’s murder case. They stopped into the Echo headquarters at Daisy’s request.

Maggie Radcliffe was typing away at an article but greeted them both warmly, looking at Daisy curiously. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, miss--?”

“Daisy,” she said with a smile, extending a hand. “Hardy.” She, too, was looking at rather curious. “You were the one who wrote the article on my dad, weren’t you?”

Maggie shook her head, the cigarette held loosely in her fingers following the motion. “Not me, I’m afraid. That was written by Olly Stevens, my most excellent protégé. He’s not here for the day, though, he was called to a meeting out of town by an old friend.”

“Oh.” Daisy deflated a little, clearly disappointed she wasn’t able to thank the main writer, but very quickly she perked up again. “Well, I just wanted to thank him, then. And you, too, since you listened to my dad.” She reached into her pocket then and withdrew a wrinkled piece of notebook paper, handing it over to Maggie. “Please, I want you to write this when it’s time.”

Maggie frowned, taking the paper hesitantly. Very quickly her expression dropped and she looked up at Daisy. “I’m so sorry, petal. Of course I will.”

Daisy’s smile was tremulous. “Thank you.”

They left the Echo very quickly afterwards, and Chloe did not bring up what Daisy had wanted the editor to write. They had not gone very far before they ran into Paul, on his way to talk to meet one of his church-goers. “Paul Coates.”

“Daisy Hardy.”

When hearing that the vicar had been in several times to see her father Daisy was certainly surprised, explaining she had never seen Alec go within five feet of the church in her entire life, but it was clear she liked Paul. “Could you come around tonight?” she asked quietly, almost shamefully.

Paul looked at her curiously. “Of course I can.” His grin was small but genuine. “Better warn your dad, otherwise he’ll probably throw something at me.”

“It’s alright, he has terrible aim.” Her humor was genuine. “He’s just—he’s not doing well.”

She didn’t have to clarify. Paul understood and he nodded, quite serious now. “Of course,” he said again. He nodded at Chloe and then went on his way down the sidewalk. Daisy watched him go then finally shook herself, determined not to allow her mood to dip any further.

“Now, where was that chip stand you were telling me about?”

0000000

Daisy was still out—invited for a quiet dinner with the Latimers—when Paul came knocking at Ellie’s door. It was John who answered and let him through. Fred was playing with a set of blocks on the living room floor and Tom was distractedly watching a show, but the latter greeted the vicar sincerely enough before going back to what he was doing.

Ellie, hearing voices, appeared at the top of the stairs. She was already dressed in comfortable pajamas, thin pants and a large shirt, but she looked thoroughly tired. Paul wondered how much worse things could have gotten in the few days he hadn’t visited. “Paul. We weren’t expecting you.”

“Alec’s daughter, Daisy, invited me over. I’m sorry, I can come back tomorrow—“

“No, no,” Ellie said hastily, descending the stairs. “No, you don’t have to do that, Paul. Actually, I think you should be here, I think Alec’s annoyed with only a couple of us to talk to.”

“And you know how I am with conversation,” Paul replied with a small smile. “I’ll see myself up, then. Is he sleeping?”

Ellie shook her head. “He doesn’t much, anymore,” she admitted. “Mainly he’ll sit and read. Or one of us will read to him.”

When Paul entered the guest room, Alec was clearly already aware who was there because he barely looked over. To the vicar’s amusement he was almost through reading The Last Battle in the Narnia series. 

“How did you like them?” he asked, sitting down on the chair beside the bed. 

Alec glanced over. “They certainly don’t make kids’ books this way anymore,” he answered dryly. His voice was hoarse.

If Ellie was exhausted it was clear that Alec was doing even worse. His skin was waxen, his hair unkempt, and although it was clear he had shaved there was the dark shadow of stubble present on his face again. His breathing was harsh even with the help of oxygen.

Paul sat on the chair beside the bed. “Your daughter invited me over.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “She invites everyone. Don’t take it personally.”

“Well, someone’s got to do the inviting anyway and it certainly won’t be you.” Although the words were sharp Paul’s tone wasn’t, lessening some of the gravity by edging it into a joke. Alec snorted, then grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you going to finish it tonight?” He gestured to the book.

“Dunno.” For a long moment the retired copper merely gazed down at the now-closed book held loosely in his hands. “I’ve been getting headaches recently. Can’t concentrate as well anymore.”

“Here, hand it over.” Paul rifled through the pages, reveling in the familiar homely smell of a well-used book, before finding the place Alec had left off. “Oh, this is a good part, Eustace being dragged through the stable door.”

“Yeah, wonderful, his fate being a sacrifice to Tash,” Alec said sarcastically, looking at him like he was crazy.

Paul grinned. “O yea of little faith,” he murmured softly, and began to read: “’Tirian and the Unicorn rushed to rescue him. But the Calormene was now far nearer the door than they. Before they had covered half the distance he had flung Eustace in and shut the door on him…’” He read for nearly an hour and a half, entirely engrossing himself in the story as he always did, all through the final battle of Narnia and the new beginning with all of Aslan’s beloved, including all of the well-loved characters from the very first book. By the time he was reading the last paragraph his voice cracked from a dry throat. “’…All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before’.”

It was quiet for a long moment; Alec had listened to it all without saying a word about it. The vicar had a good voice, probably born from reading scripture every Sunday.

They were books his mum would have read. She would have loved them to bits, probably spouting off facts about certain passages in the books mirroring the Bible; hell, he could see the parallels, they weren’t difficult to spot. But Paul was silent, clearly allowing him to make the first move.

“So their reward was to die,” he said flatly.

Paul looked over, startled. “No. Their reward was to be with Him for all eternity. Aslan took them from their world to His own because He loved them.”

“Funny how I’ve heard vicars like you say that exact thing to grieving people. Did you tell Beth that?”

Paul didn’t bristle. “I did,” he answered truthfully. “I told her because she asked. I can’t explain why things happen the way they do. I can’t explain why Joe Miller murdered Danny, I don’t know why Danny had to die, I don’t know why this has happened to you... but I keep my faith. Because sometimes my faith is all I have.” He leaned forward, voice soft. If he had been loud Alec would have known he was just spouting words but he wasn’t. “That’s all God wants from us: to have faith. To believe and be saved in Him.”

“Even the dying?”

The sarcastic, even bitter, edge was still there in Alec’s voice, Paul noticed; but it wasn’t entirely put off. He was listening even now. 

Keep going.

“From anyone,” he answered truthfully. “Anyone at all.”


End file.
